


A Mysterious Customer

by primsong



Series: A Custom Vehicle [4]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Custom Vehicle Series, Gen, Sci-Fi, Science Fiction, action / adventure, classic, dragon - Freeform, whofic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-31
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-30 10:30:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primsong/pseuds/primsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragons are mysteriously appearing in the countryside and UNIT must investigate. Does Bessie hold the key? Third Doctor, Jo and the UNIT family, 4th and final episode in the 'Custom Vehicle' series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 21

**Author's Note:**

> Being the Fourth and final episode of the 'Custom Vehicle' series
> 
> A/N: While this 'UNIT family' era tale can essentially stand on its own, I would recommend the gentle reader give consideration to the preceding three 'episodes' of the series featuring the Third Doctor and his Edwardian roadster, Bessie, as the preceding events are occasionally referenced:
> 
> #1: A Custom Vehicle, #2: A Custom Order, #3: A Custom Design
> 
> The numbering of the chapters proceeds, as with a season, throughout the story arc hence the high starting number on this one. I hope you enjoy the ride.

**Chapter 21**

-oo00oo-

The countryside was reasonably quiet, still muted in the light fog that lay over the dips and depressions of the early autumn orchards. Along the roadside of one small town, a shining sedan sat among the older working vehicles as its owner wrapped up some early morning business. 

"Well, Tom," a generously thewed man was saying as he watched his companion work. He frowned up at an apple tree as it spattered him with fat rain-drops. "I'll consider renewing that lease, then. Of course I understand how hard back-taxes can be on good honest tillers of the soil like yourself, but you know how it is."

"Thank-ee, sir," replied the expressionless farmer, pausing to mop his brow after raking together the last pile of windfalls. The landlord was an important man, only rarely seen and it was best to keep on his good side. There would be more than enough time to share his irritations with his fellow 'tillers' over an ale when he was gone. "That'll do it. The lads'll sort out any worth pressing, this rain keeps runnin' down into my collar. How about we go in and I'll sign that…"

They stopped, dumbfounded as a large beast stepped out of the wet mist around them. Huge, terrifying - a creature only known from legends but instinctively recognized.

Strangely silent, the lizard-like creature paced silently towards them. The larger of the two men blanched and dropped to his knees, dignity abandoned as he screamed like a child. Spitting a thin tongue of flame, the beast abruptly turned and vanished back into the trees. The screaming continued; his companion was more badly shaken by the big man's reaction than the unexpected creature itself; after all, what could reduce such a man in unadulterated fear? Heart pounding, he tried to calm the sobbing landlord while frantically dragging him towards the nearest building at the same time, just in case the thing should return.

Inside, his hands shook as he frantically dialed the phone. "Hello, hello, Police? I want to report, a…a… I want to report a _dragon!_ "

-oo00oo-

Sergeant John Benton slid along the side of an old-fashioned yellow roadster where it sat in its now habitual place in one of UNIT's mechanic's sheds, searching for her owner. In his mild opinion the little car was the recipient of more doting attention and care than many pets or children would've been pleased to have, but he wasn't one to complain. After all, she generally brought good humour to their mercurial scientific advisor. 

With the Doctor's assistant sent off on a 'medical leave' holiday after their somewhat harrowing hostage situation - something she'd protested wasn't necessary, but the offer of paid leave was too tempting to pass up - he'd been left to himself in the quiet of the lab. The results were predictable to any who knew him: he'd fiddled with his blue box a couple of days but unable to make progress had left off to go work on his battered car instead. Indeed, ever since that rogue group of political radicals had taken it apart nearly a month past the Doctor had been doing little but put his 'Bessie' back together with what he called 'some small improvements.' The result was UNIT's back lot had become accustomed to his near-constant presence in the garages and today was no exception. 

"Don't know why you keep that chap employed," one of their governmental visitors had groused that very morning. "He's not doing anything, is he? Getting his dole for working on some blamed automobile."

"Oh, he's still useful enough in his own way," the Brigadier had responded blandly, turning the man to other matters. "A bit eccentric, but worth every pound. Coffee?" 

The Sergeant patiently circled the car, following the sound of muted singing until he located the Doctor's legs sticking out from beneath the carriage.

"Doctor?" Benton asked.

The singing stopped. After a moment the Doctor's voice came up to him through the open bonnet. "Sergeant! Fine timing, do you see a small brass plug on the bench there?"

Benton looked through the almost indescribable array of parts until he found what appeared to be the plug in question. "Here it is, I think."

"Good man. Hand it down here, will you?" A hand stuck out from under the carriage and he obediently placed the plug in it. "Many thanks." 

Benton leaned back against the bench and waited while the plug was apparently tapped into place. The Doctor tended to focus on whatever task was at hand with a single-mindedness that made him irascible when interrupted; the lanky Sergeant didn't mind skipping that part presuming the Doctor would eventually remember that he was still waiting.

This time he was in luck. After only a few moments the Doctor scooted back out on the dolly and climbed to his feet. 

"So, what brings you out here? More errands from our friend the Brigadier?" he asked, carefully wiping the grease from his hands. 

Benton handed him the paper he'd brought. "You might say so, but not anything dealing with the ministry this time."

"Just as well. I've no more use for those pompous, ignorant…" he said, as he began looking over the report. 

"The Brigadier wanted you to see it. Just came over the wire," he added as the Doctor scanned it. "Seems there's been some…"

"Dragons?" the Doctor put in. He handed the paper back. "Nonsense. Have there been any deliveries this morning? I'm expecting a box, a part for Bessie." 

"I'll inquire," Benton said patiently, holding up the paper again. "What shall I tell the Brigadier?" 

The Doctor was fishing around in the workbench drawer, finally pulling up a pair of battered wire-strippers. "There hasn’t been anything that could be construed as a real dragon here for centuries. Probably some schoolboy's prank on his local friends," he said absently. "Or someone spending too much time at the pub." 

"Shouldn't we pursue it a bit, just to be certain?" Benton asked hesitantly. 

The Doctor smiled at him. "Ah. _You'd_ like a bit of dragon-hunting? Must have a bit of St. George in your lineage somewhere. All right, tell him it's worth a brief investigation then, questioning the locals and all that. Look for dragon tracks if you think your men might fancy an autumn picnic in the woods while they're at it."

"Thank you, sir." The tall Sergeant went off with good humour. 

-oo00oo-

"Worth looking into, then? But not going himself, I presume." The Brigadier shoved aside a small stack of papers and tried to drink from his empty coffee cup then frowned. "No. It’s his job to investigate, not yours. We put enough money into that lab he needs to do his part. Besides, I need you here and if there is anything to it he'd be the one who could tell us. He's been out there in that shed for nearly a month now. Isn't he done with that thing yet?"

"It does keep him occupied," Benton noted. 

"True.” He leaned back in his chair with a creak. “Well, Miss Grant is expected back later this morning. Maybe she can get him to deal with some of this backlog," he grumbled, twitching the stack of paper. "Not that I can't blame him. Metal analysis, weather analysis, fuel analysis…"

"He's been putting them off again? Shouldn't really surprise anyone," the Sergeant agreed, taking the empty cup for refilling. "Last time I took one of those requests to him…"

"I expect he about bit your head off," the Brigadier said. "Yes. Devilish stubborn man sometimes. We're a military establishment, he can hardly expect his work will all be used for growing daisies." He tapped a thumb on his chin thoughtfully. "Is that vehicle of his drivable?"

"Oh yes! He had it out until he heard about those ministry aides arriving, then he popped back under it neat as you please."

The Brigadier snorted. "Sounds like it's definitely time to put him back to work. When Miss Grant arrives, send her to me first. Maybe she can get him out of that mechanic's coat and back to being useful." 

"Yessir. More coffee?" Benton asked as he turned to the door. 

The Brigadier tapped his fingers on his desk thoughtfully. "No, thank you Sergeant. But if any more boxes arrive for the Doctor have them brought to me. He can pick them up here - because I'll be blowed if I'm going to have to go chasing after _him_ under that yellow contraption of his."

-oo00oo-

Lethbridge-Stewart glanced up blandly when his advisor finally came in through the door. He immediately dismissed the secretary who had been taking dictation for him. "Ah, Doctor. Yes. Here’s another box that's come in for you." 

"So I see. If you wanted my company you could've just asked."

"Unlike some who spend their days tinkering on pet projects, I'm a busy man. I see you're still making use of the account with the Custom Supply?"

The Doctor ignored the jibe and took the box, neatly popping it open. "I suppose I could build some of this myself but there was _quite_ a lot of damage, as you well remember… Besides, there, you see?" He pulled something chunky out of its paper wrapping.

"Is that a speedometer?" The Brigadier was frankly surprised that he could recognize the part, the functions of most of what went by in the Doctor's hands were mysteries to him. 

"Yes. See the brass tooling here? It's suited to her styling, don't you think? But this," he said, turning it over and loosening the back, "allows for the rapid acceleration so the readings will be more closely accurate in the upper ranges." 

Lethbridge-Stewart rolled his eyes ever so slightly, refraining from asking what those upper ranges were. Lately if the man got started on that car it was difficult to turn him to anything else.

Slightly disappointed at the Brigadier's aloofness the Doctor nonetheless pocketed the part, dropping the box into the wastebasket beside the desk as he took possession of one of the better chairs. 

A tap at the door admitted Jo Grant carrying a roll of paper. "Hello," she said cheerfully. "Here's the map."

"Thank you my dear," the Doctor said, gesturing at the desk. "Jo, I've gotten the new speedometer," he added, still looking for someone to appreciate it.

"Oh, that reminds me!" she said, slipping her purse from her shoulder and digging into it. She pulled out a small padded envelope. "I passed Captain Yates in the hall. He asked me to bring this along, something that just came in for you, in case it was important." She handed it to the Brigadier.

"It's good to have you back, Miss Grant," he nodded, glancing at the envelope. "You probably already know our friend here has been working on that car of his nearly the entire time… hm. Is that Whitehall's mark? Hard to tell. I can't imagine what they would…" he muttered a little as he opened it, shaking something small and dark out of the envelope into his hand.

"What is it?" Jo asked curiously as she anchored the edge of a map with a memo pad.

"I wasn't working on it the _entire_ time," the Doctor grumbled. "And that looks like a plastic wristwatch."

The Brigadier briefly considered it, then handed it over to him to look at while he glanced over the small paper that came with it. "It is. Apparently _'The Neutron Watch uses new space age digital technology'._ Lights up if you press the button. Promotional gift, I expect." 

The Doctor was not impressed. "Space age? You don't really want to wear this, do you?"

"Come to think of it, no."

The Doctor dropped it into the wastebasket and got up to unroll the other map. "Now, about these so-called dragons…"

"Eh? Oh yes." The Brigadier was frankly surprised to find he _had_ been doing something other than working on his car. 

"As you can see, these are where the reports place the appearance of this dragon, or dragons, or whatever they may be. And here," he tapped some small bits of coloured tape with numbers scattered about, "Are the approximate times of the sightings. This…" he pulled out another paper from his pocket and unfolded it, "Is the correlation between them. There is a distinct pattern. I would like to meet this creature the next time it appears, assuming it holds to its behaviour so far."

"Meet it?"

"Whatever this monster or dragon may be, it's highly likely it's going to make an appearance just about…here. At half-past three this afternoon."

" _This_ afternoon? Are they going to become a daily occurrence then?"

The Doctor raised a brow at him. "Well, that would be the point of all these calculations wouldn't it? I need to know more about them to find out."

The phone rang. "Lethbridge-Stewart. Ah yes. Send him in." He set it down and raised his own brows at their curiosity. "I've put out an invitation to that auditor chap, the one at the Custom Supply," the Brigadier said. "He's been sending in regular reports of any aberrant or unusual orders ever since that nonsense over in Chippenham. Unimaginative, but steady."

"I think I know who you mean," Jo said uncertainly. "The government man. I thought he said he didn't believe in anything alien."

"He's changed his mind on that matter," the Brigadier said. "At least enough to be of use to us. Do you remember what he looks like?"

The Doctor looked at Jo who shrugged. "Not particularly," she said.

"Exactly why I've called him in. He's unobtrusive. Sometimes a little less flamboyance is called for." There was a polite tap at the door. "Come."

An average-looking man with mousey brown hair and a very average face entered the room, pausing uncertainly when he saw the Doctor and Jo there. 

"Come in, Mr. Babcock. Have a seat. This is our Scientific Advisor…"

"Doctor Smith," the man finished for him, extending a hand. "Very good to see you again, sir. And you also, Miss…Grant, wasn't it? I hope you've both enjoyed the restoration on that rather unique vehicle?" 

The Doctor looked sharply at the Brigadier who waved the man to the other chair. "Mr. Babcock is the liaison for most of UNIT's customized orders. Lately the majority of those have been for a certain car," he offered blandly by way of explanation.

The Doctor stood with a nod. "Well, it's appreciated then. While I'm pleased to meet you again sir, we must beg off to do a bit of dragon-hunting it seems. Good day, Brigadier."

"Good-bye," Jo added allowing herself to be drawn out of the room. 

The Brigadier frowned. "Wait a moment. Are you leaving right away? Don’t you need the map?" 

"Yes, shortly anyway. And no, but do keep an eye on it for me will you? There's a good chap," the Doctor dismissed as he closed the door after them.

John Babcock watched them go, watching as the Brigadier began half-rolling the intriguing map out of the way. Not wanting it to look like he was being too inquisitive about it he then looked down at his shoes. This made something else catch his eye. Leaning over from his chair, he fished in the wastebasket by the desk. "A Neutron watch? I've seen a few of these. Is it broken?" he asked curiously. 

The Brigadier shook his head, coming back around his desk to seat himself. "No, just no use for the blamed thing. You can have it if you like."

"Do you mean that?" Babcock was surprised. "Very kind, thank you." He slipped the digital watch on and adjusted the strap, tapping the button to admire its bright red display. To his imagination it seemed like something James Bond would wear and made him feel just a little daring. “Now, how can I help you?”

-oo00oo-


	2. 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some spies are more unobtrusive than others.

**Chapter 22**

-oo00oo-

"You don't really think those are dragons, do you?" Jo asked, leaning against the lab door as the Doctor locked the TARDIS and scooped his driving cloak from the coat rack.

"Not in the traditional sense, no. They could be any number of things; unusual animals, intelligent life-forms, trans-dimensional or trans-temporal anomalies, perhaps even simple old-fashioned smoke and mirrors…" He pulled his cloak over his shoulders and shrugged. 

"Trans-anomaly what?"

"Trans-temporal anomaly. If there were something interfering with Time, it's plausible it could be a dinosaur. At least those would be a legitimate part of Earth's history."

Jo shook her head. "Sounds pretty farfetched to me. Of course the whole thing sounds farfetched."

"Well, I didn't say it was plausible, only possible," he noted as they headed down the hallway. "Very, very minutely. There haven't been any indications of it being time-related, but it never hurts to cover all options."

"I think you'll be disappointed if it isn't."

-oo00oo-

Back in the Brigadier’s office, someone else was thinking what he was hearing was pretty farfetched as well.

"You need me to _spy?_ " John Babcock was asking in disbelief. He had to admit he was also feeling a little flattered and sat up straighter in his chair unconsciously.

"No, not quite espionage," the Brigadier said dryly. "Just gathering information, observing. We need to know if there's been any other odd requests for unusual or technologically advanced items, bulk orders out of the ordinary and so on. The reports will be processed and compiled here by my regular staff."

"And this information," the man asked. "It's safeguarded?"

"Your contributions will be kept completely anonymous, assuming you do not foolishly announce yourself to the media. We would deny our part in such an eventuality, you understand."

He nodded but looked a bit suspicious. "And none of this is to be used for any other purpose?"

"Look here," the Brigadier said seriously, leaning forward on his desk. "We aren't the enemy. We're not in the service of any enemy of Britannia. In fact," he noted, "We've saved her more than once. We need your services."

"Then I'll do everything in my power to meet that expectation," Babcock nodded bravely. 

"Look these over and sign then, if you will Mr. Babcock," the Brigadier instructed, laying a few sheets of papers before him. "This will instate you as a temporary and severely limited operative under the auspices of UNIT. It means you are not to do anything whatsoever without my express direction."

"I understand," he said, reaching for a pen. If anyone could spot criminals and con-men, he thought, it was John Babcock, former auditor, aide-about-town. The world needed him.

"Doctor Smith," he said conversationally as he signed and dated the forms. "What did he mean by 'dragon hunting'?"

"Oh, there's been some odd occurrences lately," the Brigadier said vaguely. "Probably nothing to be concerned about. He and Miss Grant are going to gather some additional information for us."

Babcock signed the last paper. "Taking that car of his on an outing?" 

"I suppose." Lethbridge-Stewart seemed slightly preoccupied. Babcock noted the map he was looking at and the bits of intriguing coloured tape with markings stuck to it. What were they marking, anyway? There were several of whatever it was.

"There you are," he said, tapping the papers even and handing them over. "All signed. I suppose this makes it official? Is there anything else you'll be needing of me today?"

The Brigadier took the papers and tucked them into a file folder, extending a hand in a firm shake. "Welcome to UNIT, Mr. Babcock. No, nothing else needed today, but we'll be contacting you. I'll have someone escort you out."

Down in the car park, Babcock sat in his sedan and considered this strange turn of events in his otherwise relatively mundane life. A UNIT operative! His generously portioned common sense was not a little surprised to discover himself being in such a seemingly exotic element. A spy! He looked at his own eyes in the rear-view mirror of his car as if expecting that interview would have changed him in some way. Did it show? His brown eyes looked disappointingly the same, but he did note a flash of yellow passing behind him.

Turning his head, he watched as UNIT's Scientific Advisor - did that make him his Scientific Advisor too? If they were both reporting directly to the Brigadier did that make them peers? - and his young assistant rolled out of the lot in that intriguing customized car. Going 'dragon-hunting.' Going somewhere important enough to be marked in coloured tape with numbers. 

Shifting into gear, he took the sedan out of the lot and followed them.

-oo00oo-

The Doctor and Jo drove on, taking the roads north toward Leicester at a leisurely pace. The air had an autumn chill but not uncomfortably so, and the occasional rare bit of sunlight would break through the clouds to light up the landscape with that unique brilliance that was so underappreciated in sunnier climes. Their only stop was in pausing at a small shop for sandwiches, Jo having correctly pointed out they'd never gotten anything in the way of luncheon before so suddenly going off across the countryside. 

The shop was small but there were vinyl-strap chairs on the old wooden patio and tiny round tables to sit at. The Doctor pulled a couple chairs over to one while Jo placed their order. A middle-aged woman struggled with two strong-willed children at the far end, and at another a man with his hat pulled down over his ears against the breeze was just sitting down. He unfolded a newspaper to read, propping it up in front of himself in spite of the way the pages kept flapping over.

"Here we are," Jo said, setting a plastic tray down with two plates of sandwiches and a salad. She sat down and took up a fork to go after the salad, leaving her mentor to tackle the sandwiches on his own.

They ate in companionable silence for a few moments. The shop workers faintly clanked dishes inside, traffic hummed. The beleaguered woman paid her tab and went off, leaving a number of napkins blowing about as she towed her squabbling children behind her. The man in the hat turned a page of his newspaper. 

"So," Jo said, rolling the cherry tomatoes she disliked over to her tablemate, who automatically swapped them for the dill pickle wedge she preferred that had come with his own dish. "Just how far are we going?"

"A bit farther north," the Doctor said, somehow managing to speak clearly in spite of his mouth being full, "but not into the city itself."

"What if it doesn't show up?"

"Then we'll go on to the next one."

"Which you've no doubt plotted out as well?"

"Unless the pattern changes, yes."

They both concentrated on their meal for a few more minutes, then Jo finished her salad and sat back as the waiter came by their table, handing the Doctor the bill with a respectful air and a smile that faded somewhat when it was simply handed across to Jo who reached for her purse.

The man accepted her money with a brief nod, directed an icy frown at the oblivious Doctor and gathered up her empty plate as he went back to his work. 

Jo picked up the pickle wedge and nibbled it with irritation. "Did you see that?"

The Doctor, finishing off his second sandwich, tipped his head at his assistant curiously. "See what?"

"That waiter. Not the first time I've seen that look, and not just with you. I hate it how they always assume the man is the one in charge, the one with the money. You'd think women were never allowed to have their own income," she groused. "I mean! What do they think we do all day? Sit around wearing gowns and watching coffee percolate?" 

He sat back in his chair and cocked a brow at her. "The Sergeant makes excellent coffee," he noted. "Though I think he would object if it required a gown."

She waved the end of the pickle at him mock-warningly. "I'm just trying to tell you…"

"That women are frequently underestimated, underappreciated and generally misunderstood?" He popped the last of her cherry tomatoes in his mouth.

Jo gave him an exasperated smile. "Oh, never mind. And here I was just working up to a good stirring feminist speech."

"I didn't know you had it in you," he returned with good humour. "I do hope none of that stirring speech was intended for my own personal benefit?"

"I suppose you _have_ asked me to make tea," she pointed out. 

"Ah. Well, nevertheless I assure you, my dear, you're quite appreciated. And," he said getting to his feet, "It's time we were on our way."

They walked to their parking place along the road where he gallantly handed her into the car and went around to the driver's side. 

"See, now that doesn't bother me," said Jo. 

"What doesn't?" 

"Your helping me into the car. I just feel, I don't know… Cared about instead of patronized. There are men who do the same thing and it feels just horribly patronizing. Does that make sense?"

The Doctor briefly adjusted the side mirror. "There's a difference between taking care of something because it's valuable and taking care because it's flimsy," he said.

"Yes. That's it," she said. "Though I'm not sure I like the idea that I could be considered _flimsy._ "

"Because it wouldn't be true. Not an appropriate descriptive at all," he said and maneuvered out into the afternoon traffic. 

Back at the café the man in the hat had put down his newspaper and followed in what he fancied was a very unobtrusive spy-like manner. Leaving the tab on the table he quickly but casually walked to his own vehicle and followed suit. He knew the Doctor was no fool and could lose him if he realized he was being traced, so he was cautious in working his way forward and grateful for the bright yellow shining out among the more conservative vehicles on the road ahead. His confidence growing, he slowly fell back in the line of cars. 

Falling back almost made him miss his quarry; his mind had begun to wander as he drove so that he nearly missed it when they turned off onto the road towards Melton-Mowbray, heading out across the countryside.

-oo00oo-

"Here we are," the Doctor announced, turning the car onto the grassy shoulder of the road. "Positively bucolic, isn't it?" They were just outside the small town of Lowesby, its buildings having quickly given way to the open farming fields, beyond which they could just see a small green-grey river shining among its thick bordering grasses. Interspersed along the way were neat hedgerows and copses of autumn-ragged trees that lined the road. It was very quiet. 

"Why here and not back in the town itself?" wondered Jo. "For that matter, why such a small town? Do you think it could be shy of people?" 

"So far the creature, or whatever it is, seems to prefer open spaces away from major population centres - but not entirely isolated." The Doctor settled back in his seat, his eyes scanning the area around them. "All of the reports have been from areas like this, just outside of larger cities. And here, you'll note, there are still some trees for cover. Also they've been consistently been on whatever side of the town is nearest London, sure as a weathercock."

"But how did you figure it would be this road?"

"Simple topography, Jo. Didn't you look at the map? Anyway, I propose we settle here. You can get out and stretch your legs if you like, we've a good quarter hour to spare."

He glanced in the mirror, watching as a grey-black sedan approached then pulled off into one of the driveways that edged the fields. A flock of swallows flew past, swooping low over the grasses to catch insects. After a few moments of quiet, Jo restlessly climbed out of the car and wandered up and down the verge, running her hands over dry stems and letting the bits of seed drop through her fingers. 

"Doctor," she asked as she came back up to the car, "What if…"

A movement caught the corner of her eye and something she could have only described as a _dragon_ stepped out of the woods.

-oo00oo-


	3. 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Which is worse, dragons or red tape?

**Chapter 23**

-oo00oo-

Jo gasped, choking back a scream that wanted to rise unbidden to her throat; even expecting something to come and having read all of the reports, the alienness of having that large, reptile-but-not creature abruptly exuding from the quiet of the English countryside was a shock. The Doctor was out of the car so quickly she didn't even see him move, he was just suddenly passing her as he ran back towards the creature. Somewhere nearby she heard a man's voice screaming; she hadn't even known there was anyone else about.

The creature raised up a brownish-grey head to spout a thin line of flame, its lips pulling back to show a mouthful of sharp teeth. Lumpy spines undulated down its back and moved with it as it turned, apparently ignoring the Doctor's direct trajectory towards it. With a strange grace for something so large, it silently slipped back into the woods. At least the creature itself was silent; she was mostly aware of a wild blend of the sound of the man's hysterical screams and a horrible certainty that she was about to witness the Doctor being bitten in half.

It was gone. Jo immediately began running after the Doctor, who'd hesitated at the end of the gravel lane, looking after where the creature had vanished. 

Coming up beside him she could see the reason for his pause: a few yards further up the gravel road a plain sedan was parked half-way into the greenery, a few branches laid over the bonnet in an abandoned amateur camouflaging attempt. Mr. John Babcock whom she had last seen safe and sound in the Brigadier's office was curled up on the ground, still occasionally giving out shuddering shrieks. There was no sign of the dragon.

The Doctor ran up to him where he writhed and cowered, still covering his head. Quickly scanning the man for injury, he looked sharply around the wood for anything else that might have caused such a reaction. Everything was silent and still.

"Mr. Babcock!" Jo exclaimed in astonishment as she came running up. She knelt beside him anxiously. "What…"

"He followed us out here," the Doctor said shortly. He was gently slapping the side of the aide's face. "Mr. Babcock! Breathe, sir. Deep breaths. That's better. Probably mere curiosity but I'd like to be sure of it. Breathe! Now hold it in. That's right. Besides, if we lost him who knew where he'd end up; the Brigadier needs him to show up for work tomorrow. Here," he pulled off his cloak as the shaking man began to calm. "Wrap him up and put him in Bessie, will you Jo? He can't possibly be driving after a fit like that."

Jo obediently wrapped the warm driving cloak around him and encouraged the man to his feet as the Doctor ventured into the shrubby border of the woods, tracing back where the creature might have come from or gone. Jo watched him picking his way into the underbrush for a moment then turned her attention back to the ashen-faced aide in her care, guiding him back to the main road.

Babcock climbed into the back seat of the little open car without comment, still pale and shaking. Concerned that he might be in some kind of shock, Jo tucked the cloak around him, loosened his tie and unbuttoned his tight shirt-cuffs, pulling off the snug black watch he wore and dropping it into her purse for safekeeping. She tipped him sideways and was working at pulling off his shoes when the Doctor came back up to them, absently brushing bits of leaves from his jacket. 

"No tracks, no discernable scent. Not even a twig out of place. As I suspected. These creatures are not really there, they can't be."

"I saw it! I saw it! It was right there! Right there!" babbled the unhappily trembling aide as he partly propped himself back up. His colour looked a little better, but he was still shaken.

Jo reached out and rubbed his shoulder soothingly as if he were a child, nudging him back down onto the seat. "Well, either way, it's gone now."

"Either way?" the Doctor said. "No question about it! It was never here. And I doubt any of the others were either. It doesn't have the feel of a time-rift of any kind. More likely a holographic projection, though a multicomplexitous high quality one. That level of depth and detail would require a significantly advanced projection, never mind the power level and trajectorial calculations…" he trailed off in thought. "Assuming it's centralised…."

"Is there anything else we need to see here?" Jo asked after a moment.

He blinked at them, drawn back from wherever his thoughts had gone. "Sorry, I was thinking. No, I don't believe so; there won't be any other evidence, not here. I believe it's all being projected from some other location, either here or possibly from a low orbit. How is our friend?"

"He had a terrible scare. I think he should go back to HQ."

"That's another thing…" said the Doctor then stopped and shook his head. "Later. Come on, then."

-oo00oo-

"I tell you," the Doctor said, throwing himself into an office chair that creaked in protest. "There's something else at work here. Why was he so afraid? Mr. Babcock, in my experience, has been one of the blandest, most unimaginative men I've met and yet there he was gibbering away with fear at something that only existed as a mere image in the air."

"I shouldn't have allowed him to see that map of yours," the Brigadier noted. "Fancying himself a sleuth when we'd only just signed him on; I suppose I misjudged his imagination. But you were right about that reaction of his; others are having the same difficulty with that mere image, as you say. Check these reports." He poked through a pile on his desk and selected a clipboard which he passed to the Doctor. "Police, hospital and asylum records for the witnesses of these things. It appears several, but not all, were likewise traumatized by it, though none had any physical wounds.” 

“A marked increase in accidents, attacks and illnesses brought on by either anger or fear, or both." The Doctor sifted through the pages, frowning. "Correlations on these excessive fear reactions with the locations?"

The Brigadier paced to the window and back again. "None that we can tell. Variances even in the witnesses of the same event, and scattered all over the nation."

"Britain only?"

"So far."

There was a tap at the door and Benton's head popped in. "I'm nearly off," he said. "Is there anything else you'll be wanting before the evening shift comes on, sir?"

"You wouldn't happen to have Saint George handy, would you?"

"Afraid not," Benton replied with good humor, "But if he comes by I can have them send him up. Goodnight, sir, Doctor." 

They nodded as the Sergeant pulled the door shut again. The Doctor set the papers aside and tapped his chin thoughtfully with steepled fingers as the Brigadier paced past. "George wouldn't be of much use to you anyway, unless he could slay the holographic projector these images are coming from."

Lethbridge-Stewart looked at his advisor with interest. "You're sure it's a projection then. Can you tell where they're coming from?"

"I need more information," the Doctor said. "The scope and clarity over such a wide area is beyond the usage of current local technology. My guess is whoever it is may be employing satellites."

"You mean communication satellites? Or something of alien manufacture?"

The Doctor crossed his long legs restlessly. "Probably piggy-backing on the existing satellites, but I can't rule it out. I'd need records. Information from any that are currently positioned over this hemisphere."

The Brigadier shook his head. "You never make it easy, do you?" he said ruefully. "Britain hasn't any satellites of its own, we merely contract with those who do. We'd have to get international permissions to even inquire."

"UNIT is an international taskforce," the Doctor reasonably pointed out. "Not a British one. Surely you can make a few calls to the owners to release records confidentially."

"They're going to be touchy," the Brigadier waffled. He was tired and hated the idea of having to negotiate anything dealing with any nation's security, even his own, at least until morning.

"I'll do it, then. Just give me the numbers."

The idea of the Doctor ringing up international security advisors and saying God alone knew what made Alistair's head ache. "No, no need for that. I'll do it."

"Good. Here's what we need to know…"

-oo00oo-

The following morning was grey with occasional bits of rain spitting down from the skies without much rhyme or reason. Driving through the wet streets, Jo was grateful once again that the Doctor had apparently taken the time to put the canopy up sometime during the night, even if she suspected it was more to try out his new canopy fittings than for her comfort. It was still somewhat early; traffic was heavy and the going slow. 

Ahead of them, the Brigadier's car finally pulled into a brick enclosed car park before an impressively large but dreary government edifice that, according to the signs, housed various offices of international scope. 

"Now this meeting," the Brigadier said firmly by way of greeting as they joined him, Benton and Yates in front of the steps. "I would appreciate it if you didn't say anything unless I ask you to."

"But…" the Doctor started.

"Not even that," the Brigadier snapped. He was not in the mood for any insubordination, however mild, not after what had amounted to a very late night spent mostly on the phone followed by an early morning of the same. "The man we're here to see is one Fitz-William, new to the post and most likely trying to prove himself. The others should be staff representatives of the various companies involved. They weren't too pleased with our pushing into their schedule this morning." 

"So be nice," Jo summarized.

"Yes. And don't say any more than you have to. We still don't really know what or whom we may be dealing with. Let's just get those records and be done with it."

They followed him up the steps. 

Marble and dark wood gleamed around them as they entered the small lobby and were directed into an adjacent conference room. The scent of paper and ink, air freshener, cologne and coffee hung heavy about the dark faux-wood table that filled the center of the room. Chairs were set about it, many already filled with tired-looking men in suits. 

They filed in, Yates hanging back to more carefully scope out the lobby area. 

Mr. Fitz-William, of the rather importantly titled Ministry of International Defensive Communications Technology stood as they filed in, a stack of cream-coloured folders neatly placed on the table before him. Thick lips and thinning hair detracted from what might have otherwise been an impressive face and his expensively tailored suit displayed all the accoutrements of status about it, right down to the gold tie-tack with it's fine chain and the 'space age' watch on his arm.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Fitz-William said as introductions were briefly made all around the room. "We all have a busy schedule as I'm sure you're well aware, so let's get down to business. Now suppose you tell us what exactly why this information you want is so tremendously urgent? We've lined up permissions on Intelsat, Comsat, NASA, the British and European shared communication intelligence reports. And," he flipped open one of the folders in front of him. "You're also wanting access to records from Symphonie and Intercosmos… Do you have any idea how many layers of security there are involved in this request?"

The Brigadier's face was unreadable. "We aren't asking for complete transparency, sir. Only the parameters and times you'll see defined in the report our Scientific Advisory Committee has submitted."

"Advisory Committee?" Jo whispered to the Doctor as the bureaucratic riposte began. 

"Myself, Yates and Lethbridge-Stewart," the Doctor murmured back. "The Brigadier felt it more likely to be accepted if it were the work of a 'committee' instead of an individual."

"…and seeing as it could be a matter of not only national but international security to ascertain whether or not the satellites are in fact being misused by some third party for parabolic projections…" Lethbridge-Stewart was saying.

"Holographic," Jo corrected before she could stop herself. 

All of the men in the room stopped and looked at her.

"Thank you," the Brigadier said after a beat, "Holographic…"

"How does she know?" Fitz-William suddenly interrupted, getting to his feet.

"…eh, Miss Grant is…" the Brigadier was startled at the change in the man's countenance and tone, it hadn't been _that_ much of a faux-pas. 

"Get…her… out of here!"

They stared as Fitz-William's formerly placidly authoritarian face continued to transform. Flushing red from the collar up he quivered, growled and pointed a finger at her. "Get that inferior, stupid _woman_ out of this room! Women in the _military,_ " he spat angrily. 

"Now, look here," the Doctor was saying, coming to his feet along with Jo. 

"See what has this country has fallen to!" the man ranted, "No doubt telling _men_ what to do while _she_ simpers and wiggles her …"

Everyone in the room was rooted, staring in gaping astonishment at this abrupt well of crude, misogynistic spouting. The Doctor started to say something when their astonishment was increased by the reaction of the petite target of that commentary.

"Why you…how _dare…!_ " Josephine Grant uncharacteristically snarled and launched herself at him.

-oo00oo-


	4. 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncharacteristically over the top.

**Chapter 24**

-oo00oo-

The Ministry representative stumbled over the chair behind him, shouting a vulgar epithet as Jo lunged after him. Abandoning her training, she went after him on instinct; as an enraged cat flies at its adversary, all teeth and nails. The two tussled and went down with Jo apparently doing her level best to claw out the Minister’s eyes and eviscerate him as he flailed and punched unaccountably roaring and spitting sexual slurs.

A security man shoved past the shocked observers and fallen chairs, awkwardly grabbing at the girl before being shoved aside himself by two others who were right behind him. 

The Doctor and the Brigadier each snatched an arm and between them rapidly wrestled their unreasoning operative right out of the room with Benton clearing a path like a snow-plough. As she showed no sign of letting up, they went on with her kicking and struggling right past the flabbergasted Captain Yates. He stared after them as Jo was bodily dragged across the lobby to the exit by her superiors.

"Jo! What are you doing?" the Doctor rebuked sternly, half-pushing her out through the glass doors. It was more against her surprising and impolite violence than in defense of the government man, whom he'd had no patience with in the first place even before his words had turned abusive.

"I'm not going anywhere!" Jo screeched defiantly, pulling away from them then digging in her heels as the Doctor took her arm again and tried to lead her down the steps. "You think just because you're a… oh! Stop it!" To the Doctor’s surprise she turned on _him_ , practically spitting with anger. Struggling, she yanked against his grasp then turned and pummeled his chest with all her strength. 

The polished steps in front of this marble building were hardly the place for such a display. Sergeant Benton had followed them from the conference room but now stood looking to his commander for guidance as he guarded the outer door from others following, Yates hovering behind. Lethbridge-Stewart held up a hand to keep them back. The Doctor grabbed at the young woman's wrists to still them and when she compensated by trying to stomp his feet, he picked her up. 

"Put me down!" she screamed, red-faced, enraged and flailing.

"No argument!" the Doctor said firmly. He didn't know what was going on with his assistant, but he didn't want her making a spectacle like this. Enough time to iron it out later. Behind him he was vaguely aware of the Captain's voice apologizing to a blusteringly outraged sounding man.

He'd initially intended to pick her up to only carry her down the steps, but she was a hard one to hang onto when she didn't want to be held and quickly managed to wriggle and kick herself half-free. "Don't just stand there, lend a hand!" This wasn't directed at Jo, who was still protesting and twisting in his arms, but rather at the other UNIT men who still indecisively stared after the two of them.

The Brigadier followed and took one half-hearted swipe at the snarling girl before a near-miss made him step back again. Not only were angry females not his venue, he didn't really want to engage in hand-to-foot combat with anyone wearing spike-heeled boots.

"Brigadier!" the Doctor protested in astonishment as Jo tried to bite his arm.

He ducked back from her kicking heels. "She's _your_ assistant," he excused with discomfiture. " _You_ hold her!"

"What? Nonsense! Grab her feet, I say!"

"She's wearing those demmed boots! Miss Grant! Calm down!"

She ignored them, twisted herself around again, only to have the Doctor take a firmer hold and flip her up over his shoulder as he strode into the car park. She reached back, pulling at his hair and trying to throttle him with his own tie, still kicking, so he flipped her again. 

Benton had been certain nothing dealing with the Doctor could surprise him but now he knew he'd been mistaken. He stood rooted by the doorway in astonishment as the normally proper and gentlemanly Doctor he thought he knew went on carrying his screeching young assistant upside down, her legs kicking madly around his ducking head, her hands clawing at his knees. Behind him came the Brigadier, haplessly offering what he apparently hoped might be helpful advice.

"Flip her around again, or give her another lift there, she's going to addle your brains! You've got to get her feet higher! Watch out for her purse!"

Jo was apoplectic. "Put me doooown! You, you….oh! I'll never speak with you again! You puffed up…Let me go! Help! Oh!" She wrapped her arms around his legs, trying to trip him. 

The tall Sergeant stood by the door, completely unsure what to do. He, for one, was glad Jo was wearing winter tights under her short dress that day or the strange event might have been even more shocking.

Mike Yates was suddenly at his elbow again. "What…?"

"The Doctor's having some difficulty," Benton supplied. "But don't worry, I think the Brigadier's got it in hand."

"Miss Grant, calm down! Is she all right?" the Brigadier was saying.

"Never mind her, what about me?" the Doctor grumbled as he spun the struggling girl sideways to get her away from his feet, then, when she promptly went after his face, stuffed her partly under his arm to try to pin her hands. He nodded briefly back at the men on the steps and headed briskly for Bessie, Jo's screeching, tousled head bobbing to his long strides behind him. She was still doing her level best to impale him with a boot-heel, no longer caring where.

"What set that off? Was she hurt?" Yates demanded.

"No, she was perfectly fine until that Ministry man ordered her to leave the room," Benton said by way of explanation. "Lit into him like a firecracker, then when the Doc pulled her out she went after him instead." They both stood and watched somewhat in awe of the feminine fury the normally sweet Jo was wreaking upon their scientist.

"But…why…?"

"He was pretty blunt about it," Benton said, gesturing to a confused man inside the lobby that this particular exit door was not an option just then. "Said she was inferior, among other things."

"But she wasn't…"

"It was because she’s a woman," he added.

Yates scowled, muttering something about the Minister's lineage. "Throwing her out because she’s a _woman?_ She's a qualified…"

"A _stupid_ woman," Benton amended. "And quite a lot worse, actually. But…well, I don't know, sir. I've never seen her _this_ angry."

Yates started to move forward then hesitated again. "Do you think we should interfere?"

"He's taking care of it. Frankly, I wouldn't go over there for all the tea in China," Benton said, shaking his head. 

They both looked back to where the Doctor was now busy bodily stuffing Jo into the canopied roadster and apparently talking to her quite sternly. Small objects began flying out at him, making him have to duck even as he lectured. 

"She's got spirit though, doesn't she?" admired Yates. 

Benton looked on in wonder. "Knowing the Doctor, I hope she doesn't try to get back out."

Over by the car, the Doctor turned and stalked around it towards the driver's side. Jo immediately leapt from the car and stubbornly ran after him, railing about something and trying to smack him with her purse. He didn't even pause, he simply swung right back around, scooped her up again. They could hear her screaming something unpleasant, pummeling his back as he strode over to the Brig’s sedan. The other man, apparently at his request, popped open the boot. The Doctor dumped the astonished, infuriated girl in and closed it.

Benton and Yates looked at one another, their brows raising another mutual notch. The rhythmic thuds against the metal told them her energetic kicking had been put back to work inside the unfortunate vehicle. The Doctor stood nearby, rubbing at the back of his neck as the Brig looked on.

"Reminds me of a row I once saw between the Brig and his wife, some time back" Benton noted, "I'm sure glad I'm not married like that." This garnered a strange look from his companion, so he hastened to add, "Not that I'm saying … oh, hang it."

-oo00oo-

"Doctor was that really necessary?" the Brigadier was saying.

The Doctor leaned down and spoke very clearly to the boot of the car. "Are you quite through?"

"Let…. _wham_ ….me…. _wham_ …out!" came the muffled words interspersed with blows. 

"Ah, well. Maybe," the Brigadier amended to himself. "Not that I condone…"

"I'm not letting you out until you stop acting like a child."

"I am _not!_ " came the immediate reply, with another kick at the lid of the boot.

"I am quite prepared to wait."

There was a brief flurry of motion then a long pause. He worked at fixing the tie she'd yanked askew. The Brigadier took a breath, then let it out and crossed his arms, waiting to see what happened.

"Doctor?" Jo's voice sounded a little worried. "Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"Let me _out!_ "

He finished the tie and examined the state of his trouser knees.

She shuffled around again. There were small scraping sounds near the latch.

"It won't work," he said. The scraping stopped.

After a moment her voice came again. "It's stuffy in here!"

He leaned against the side of the car, considered his scratched hands and then stuck them in his pockets. "And quite dark, I expect. Yes."

" _Please_ let me out?"

He thought about this. "Only if you promise to stop this nonsense." There was no reply but not really wanting to keep her trapped, he popped open the lid anyway. Jo accepted his handing her out from the cramped space, her face flushed with a mix of embarrassment, confusion and lingering offense as they eyed one another.

"Well," he said conversationally. "What was that?"

She bit her lip. "He insulted me."

The Brigadier and the Doctor glanced at one another. 

"Yes, he did. And aside from the reactions, you should have realized what he said wasn’t true."

"We need that man to cooperate with us, Miss Grant," the Brigadier put in. 

Jo, to his surprise, looked _hurt_. She looked up at the Doctor. "But you let him say those, those _nasty_ , horrible things about me… you didn't defend me at all!" 

He blinked at her. "Defend you? What would you have me do, challenge him to some sort of medieval duel? You're being ridiculous."

She crossed her arms stubbornly, sniffing back tears. "I would've defended _you,_ " she said. "If someone said _you_ were stupid and manipulative and wanted you taken out just because you were a _man._ "

"Miss Grant…" the Brigadier started.

The Doctor shook his head. "Every time I think I understand humans, they surprise me - especially you. Still, none of this makes sense. It wasn't a matter of loyalties, Jo, it was a matter of needing to humour the man and get his help. Even if he's an unreasonable bigot." He frowned. "And it just isn't like you to react this way, not even to abject idiocy. That reaction was _quite_ over the top, you must admit."

"I know. I know, but still…" She was trembling with the after-effects of adrenaline and felt a bit sick. 

He pulled her gently over to him, offering a brief embrace by way of partial apology. She leaned her head on him, silently accepting it and apologizing back. 

“You’re shaking,” he said softly.

“Sorry,” she said, hugging her arms around herself and making herself look even smaller against him.

"Look," he said after a moment. "Let's get out of this scrape first, if we haven't lost all hope of it. Then you can go find someone who I would be allowed to fight without it being some sort of international incident, and if _he_ insults your feminine dignity, I can challenge him to a duel. Non-fatal, of course. Perhaps a game of chess."

The Brigadier coughed.

She laughed into the Doctor’s velvet. "Oh yes. And I'll give you my lace handkerchief to wear upon your sleeve. Though I don't have one, so I'd have to borrow yours.” She smiled up at him and suddenly became embarrassed again.

"Oops. Did I do that to your hair?"

"No, it always looks like this," he said dryly. "Will you stay here, now? In the car? Or at least outside?"

She nodded, looking more abashed by the minute. "All right. You and, and… the two of you better go see if… " She suddenly clapped her hands over her face. "Oh, I've probably just ruined _every_ thing! What was I thinking? What was I _doing?_ " 

The Brigadier raised a brow at her. "That's something we'd like to find out."

"It was a most uncharacteristic display," the Doctor agreed seriously. "For both of you. Do you think you can manage without me, Brigadier? I think we have a different sort of problem to deal with here."

"There, you see?" Benton was saying from back where he and the Captain watched. "No need to worry. They've kissed and made up and all that."

Yates eyed his friend sourly. "You could have phrased that differently."

"Right. Not literally. Well. Sorry," Benton shrugged. He tipped his head back toward the lobby, which was now full of men in suits. "I guess one of us better get back in there to start picking up the pieces." 

-oo00oo-


	5. 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's causing it? Oh no, not that.

**Chapter 25**

-oo00oo-

The Brigadier paced slowly around the UNIT lab as they waited to hear the results of Jo’s medical check, something they’d all agreed should be done after the unusual events at the Ministry. “It’s a good thing they were so eager to shelter their own representative from any reports of his ill-natured behavior. Captain Yates did a fine job of negotiating off the cuff, much to his credit. And it's even worked in our favor, sped the process up, though I can't say we ought to make a habit of such displays."

"I certainly hope not," the Doctor affirmed. "Though I still need to know what it is we're dealing with before I can tell you the best course of action."

"You don't think that kind of thing is going to spread, do you?" Benton worried.

"I don't know," he said shortly, fiddling with something square.

The Brigadier glanced at it curiously. "Is that something to do with these satellites?"

"No, it's the horizontal hold from the TARDIS," he snapped. "As I don't have anything on those satellites yet. When will we have that information?"

"It has a horizontal hold?" Benton wondered.

"Tomorrow, if everyone cooperates rather than suddenly insulting and attacking one another." Lethbridge-Stewart paused to consider a tangle of wire hooked up to something that resembled an oil filter, then continued pacing. He paused again near the doors. "That doctor is taking long enough."

The Doctor poked at the small item in his hand with a tiny screwdriver then held it up to squint at it in the light. "He has to match up all of her basic metabolic and physical records with her current one. It takes time."

The phone rang. "Lethbridge-Stewart. Very well. I'll be right up." He hung up the receiver. "I'll be in my office, cutting red tape for you. Let me know if you find anything. Sergeant, keep an eye on things here, will you?"

"Yes sir."

"Keep an eye on things?" the Doctor snorted. After a minute he set aside his tinkering and with no further word went off into his TARDIS. After a quarter-hour passed with no sign of him, Benton shrugged to himself and wandered away to find some tea.

-oo00oo-

"Doctor?" Jo edged the lab door open and looked around the empty room. It was so quiet she gave a jump when the Doctor suddenly came sailing out of the TARDIS, a small machine tucked under his arm. 

"Ah, there you are!" he said, dropping it onto one of the tables and attaching a power cord. "Any unusual results?"

"None," she said. "Though I think I've been poked, weighed, measured, scanned and questioned more than enough for one day, thank you."

"No mention of foreign substances, unusual brain wave patterns?"

"Nothing," she smiled. "I've a clean bill of health."

He took a breath thoughtfully. "And yet we know something was affecting you, just like it affected that offensive ministry chap and old Babcock. It wasn't location, it wasn't time. There has to be something in common. Metals, minerals, chemical traces… We need to find out if it might be external."

"External? You mean like a spray or something?"

"No, I've already analyzed that cologne applicator of yours while I was waiting. Let's start with metal. Would you mind taking off your jewelry, my dear?"

"All of it off?" She obediently stripped the baubles off her fingers and wrists, dropping them where the Doctor doodled a finger through them to spread them out, prodding and turning them.

"Anything new? Anything you were recently given as a gift for instance?" 

Jo leaned on the workbench beside him. "Only my ring, the silver one there, not the other. But it came from my uncle and I've had it for a few weeks already without any trouble."

The Doctor flicked on the small machine he'd pulled out of the TARDIS and briefly ran her various bits of jewelry under its purple light.

The door opened. "Welcome back, Miss. Thought I better check in to see how it's going," Benton said by way of greeting, looking at the pile of trinkets under the purple glow curiously. 

"Hello, Sergeant," Jo smiled. "All the medical checked out normal, so now we're looking at….what was it?"

"Any applications of external emotive enhancement, chemical or electrical…" the Doctor mumbled, peering into the purple scope.

"Those."

"Ah," said Benton.

"Any metallic threads, trim?" Looking back up, he popped in his jeweler's glass and reached out to finger the weave on the hem of a stylish vest she was wearing over her turtleneck. "Hm."

Jo shook her head. "Look, how about I just go change into something else, then you can do whatever you like with these."

He dropped the glass into his hand and looked down at her feet. "Good idea. How about your boots? Those look new."

"They are," she said then gasped. 

"What is it?"

"Shoes! Mr. Babcock began to get better about the time I pulled off his shoes!"

"Shoes?" asked Benton.

"Shoes?" the Doctor considered as she leaned on him for balance, unzipping her boot. "Well, that would be clever now, wouldn't it? Common, easy to distribute without anyone noticing, two per individual…well, most individuals…" 

She handed him a boot and started on the other as he stuck the glass back in and examined the stitching and heel, Benton offering an arm to steady her. "You won't have to cut off the heels or anything, will you?" she asked. "I just got them and they fit perfectly. Oooh, this floor is cold."

He didn't reply for a moment, brushing the jewelry aside and inserting the heel of the boot under the purple light, then he waved towards the TARDIS. "There's plenty of clothing in there, help yourself," he said vaguely.

"Oh right. Back in a minute," she said and slipped into the blue box.

Benton rocked on his heels. "What shall I tell the Brigadier, then?"

"That her medical is clear and we're working on finding other causes, there's a good fellow," said the Doctor. He pulled out the boot and somewhat ludicrously examined the end of the spiked heel as if he were looking into a telescope. 

The Sergeant shrugged and went out. 

Captain Yates was just leaving the Brigadier's office as he came to it. "What are they doing? Have they found anything?" he asked. 

"I don't really quite know," the honest Sergeant replied. "When I left he was examining all of Miss Grant's clothing."

"What?" Yates blinked at him as he went past. 

"Come in, Sergeant," said Lethbridge-Stewart, and he went in. The Captain stood uncertainly for a moment, then headed for the lab.

-oo00oo-

"Here you are," Jo said, dropping a small stack of neatly folded clothing on the workbench. The Doctor glanced up from his scope and raised his brows at her appearance.

Jo looked down somewhat self-consciously at the basic knee-length dress she'd found, smoothing the flower-sprigged fabric. "Is this all right? It seemed close enough to fit anyway."

The Doctor smiled a bit sadly and pulled a random piece of clothing from her stack, absently stretching the fibers and slipping it under the scope. "That dress belonged to a friend of mine named Victoria. She thought it was too short."

Jo considered this. "Did….something…happen to her?"

He adjusted a knob. "Oh, no. Not to Victoria. She was an orphan under my care for a while. Eventually found a home she was happy to stay in."

"Well, that's not so bad then," said Jo, relieved, though she couldn't decide what to think about the 'not to Victoria' clause. She doubted he would want to expand on something like that; he almost never talked about friends from his past unless they were famous and he was feeling like impressing someone. 

There was a tap at the door and Captain Yates entered. 

"Hello Mike," Jo said more cheerfully. 

"What _is_ this anyway?" the Doctor asked at the same time, peering at the striped fabric in the eyepiece.

She glanced back. "My tights."

"Hm. What brings you here, Captain? I just sent the Brigadier an update."

Yates paused awkwardly. "Uh."

The Doctor set the tights aside and picked up another piece of clothing. "Most eloquent. Nothing there," he said, scanning the fabric briefly, pushing it away and picking up a third piece. "Did you have anything in your hair?"

"No, nothing," Jo said, refolding them.

He scanned over her belt and scrubbed at his own hair. "Were you carrying anything in your pockets?"

"No pockets," she said. "Men have pockets, women have handbags."

"Ah yes," He looked up at her mischievously. "They make useful bludgeons."

She gave him an embarrassed smile. "Sorry."

"Anything unusual in the handbag, then?"

"No, I don't think so." She turned to the Captain. "Could you hand me that purse there? Thank you." 

"Er," Yates located the handbag where it hung from the coatrack. "Here you are. Um….what are you doing?"

"Trying to find something," Jo said, dumping the contents of the bag out on the lab workbench so the two of them could sort it. They both pounced on the same item.

"His watch!" said Jo.

"Yes, a so-called 'Neutron' watch. It looks just like the one that was sent to the Brigadier."

"I forgot I put it in there."

Yates was confused. "Is the watch important then?"

"So you think it could be giving off some kind of signal?"

The Doctor was already popping the back open. He focused the scope and flipped on its purple lighting again. "Captain Yates, fetch the Brigadier. I think we have something here."

-oo00oo-

"What do we know about these watches?" the Doctor asked.

The Brigadier peered at the small item being dissected beneath the light and pursed his lips thoughtfully beneath his moustache. "From what we understood they were merely a promotional item, exposure to new technology. I see that sort of thing all the time, accessory samples, pins with symbols on them and so on."

"They were most likely sent out to men in leadership positions?"

"Well, yes. I think you can safely assume some were given to various government officials and corporate presidents, current influential members in social circles or in commerce decisions. Going to be stocking them in every storefront soon, I shouldn't wonder."

"I sincerely hope they haven't been distributed that widely yet." He picked up a tiny piece of watch innards in a pair of tweezers and held it up to them.

"What's that?"

"Normally it would be the quartz movement. The problem is this isn't a normal wafer of quartz, this includes a sub-micronic circuit."

"A circuit? What does it do, then?"

The Doctor carefully placed the tiny bit on a cloth. "It's a very unique type of circuit, and I'm afraid I've seen it before." He looked up at the Brigadier somberly. "They aren't logic circuits, they're emotional circuits."

The Brigadier's back went straight, his eyes dark. "I remember those. Those Cybermen chaps used them in the phone systems during that invasion. Have they found some way to come back, then?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No, no, not quite like before. Not Cybermen, I think; just a similar type of circuitry. But yes, it _is_ a cause for concern that the same principal appears to be functioning here. Similar enough to be a very serious concern indeed." He got up and paced a moment. "And another thing bothers me about this; it's slightly before its time."

"What do you mean?" the Brigadier asked. "The technology for quartz movements and these digital displays have been seen before now…"

"Yes, but not this lightweight and not so readily available to the common man. A digital wristwatch should be a novelty for the very wealthy at this time, not being sold in every corner shop. Someone is aware of the novelty, but they've jumped the gun just a bit."

"Jumped the gun?"

"It's too soon!" the Doctor said with exasperation. "But only ever, ever so slightly, so he slips right under the tolerance for any aberrations in the timeline while still…"

"Who does?" the Brigadier said, even as he realized who the Doctor must be referring to. "Oh no. Not again."

-oo00oo-


	6. 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The problem surfaces, but so does something on the telly.

**Chapter 26**

-oo00oo-

The Brigadier frowned. "The Master? Not the Cybermen, then? Are you sure?"

The Doctor tapped his fingers across the tabletop carefully. "While we can't _entirely_ rule their interference out, it doesn't add up to include them in the scenario. The Master knows better than to work with those killers, and yes, yes, I know he's done his fair share as well, but still, his conscience may be lacking but as least he has one…." He trailed off, staring up at nothing in particular, thinking.

"Are you _quite_ sure? There was nothing new in our satellite reports, but I wonder if it mightn't be prudent to check the London sewer networks again. Do you think they would attempt another invasion using the same route?" 

"That's just it," the Doctor grumbled with some exasperation, turning back to the microscope. "It _isn't_ the same. It's as if someone or something picked up the concept of their technology and attempted to copy it. Doesn’t have their fingerprint on it, so to speak. It also exhibits a weaker signaling potential, which is probably why it's been embedded into something people wear right up against them. It still operates with emotive principles rather than logical, but it could be entirely different as far as its effect on humanity."

"Good God, man, wristwatches are as common as daisies. How will we find where this stuff has been spread?" 

"Not quite so common. I expect it's only this particular type of watch, or at least we can hope so. Keep an eye on the news," the Doctor said. "If these emotive circuits have been distributed and they're affecting human emotional responses in some way, there will be a rise in adrenaline-related aberrant behavior. Police reports, asylum admittances, unusual public gatherings, politicians who've suddenly switched their tune, that sort of thing. Any sudden changes or rises in behaviors should be flagged."

"I'll get some staff on it."

"That ministry man, the one who insulted Jo. He had a watch on, didn't he?"

"More than likely, if what you say is true." 

The Doctor took a breath. "Good grief. There's one of these in Bessie! I thought it odd it had been included alongside her new speedometer, I hadn't ordered the clock option on anything, of course, the last thing I need is a time piece." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "My mind was on other things so I merely adjusted it not to show. I'll have to pull it out again."

The Brigadier looked up from his notepad. "I thought that was custom ordered," he said, "through our own Ministry. In fact, I remember signing the papers for that lot."

"It was," the Doctor said unhappily. "Apparently whomever he's been using to sell these much touted 'space age' items has pulled a contract with your military supply as well. Very efficient." He leaned back against the table with a frown. "There's too many things we don't know. Why magnify the adrenaline-related emotions? Are these timepieces being manufactured here, in this country? How many other items besides watches could they be appended to?"

"We're hoping our new operative will be able to provide us with some records along those lines."

"And that's another thing. Why did you bring that Babcock fellow into all this anyway?"

"He's been sympathetic to us and quite useful in his own way. He has the ability to oversee and potentially audit every customized order in the British government. Besides, he blends in," the Brigadier said with an expression that indicated this was something the Doctor was incapable of doing. "Forgettable men sometimes have their uses in agencies such as ours."

"He may be forgettable, but he was quite obvious when he was following us. I would recommend you keep him to his auditing duties only or he's liable to get himself into trouble."

"And the Master?"

"He invents his own troubles. If these circuits have been distributed, all that would be left for him to do would be to have a way to trigger them. In spite of being placed in timepieces, they don’t seem to have any time-oriented triggers." He steepled his fingers, tapping them thoughtfully on his chin. "Creating a predisposition seems more likely…"

"Are we looking at an imminent invasion of some kind then?"

The Doctor took another breath and slowly let it out again in thought. "I don't think so. The Master, if it is him, wouldn't want to share the benefits of a properly tyrannical dictatorship with anyone else if he could avoid it, and he knows as well as anyone that you really can't ever trust the Cybermen. But he wouldn't want the burden of all of the bureaucracy either. He must have a partner, though they may or may not be directly involved. Yet."

"Then what the devil does he think to accomplish?"

"It's all preparation, Brigadier. Most likely preparation to convert the human population to some type of eventual slavery and take the planet’s resources, or at least to convert a significant enough portion to overcome the ones that remain." 

"That's quite serious."

"Yes."

"So…if there are this unknown number of these devices out there, what would happen if all of them were set off at once?"

"Anyone experiencing any kind of emotional surge would have it magnified, which could be a significant portion of the populace if he produced it in tandem with an adrenaline-producing event."

The Brigadier nodded. "Seeing dragons?"

"Quite. Especially if he does succeed in eventually having those compromised watches at every shop. Once they're cheap enough the novelty factor alone will drive people to buy them."

"Do you really think so?"

"I know so. As I said, it's only slightly before its time."

"Pity. Always favored hands on watches. Grandfather clocks and all that."

A young lieutenant tapped at the lab door's frame. "Sir, you've got to see this."

-oo00oo-

"What is it?" Lethbridge-Stewart frowned at the snow-filled, hissing television broadcast. "Can't you bring it in clearer?"

"No sir," said the young man. "We've tried everything, it comes in the same."

"Did you try other broadcasting frequencies?" asked the Doctor, not taking his eyes from the screen.

"Yes sir. They all come in clear as a bell, excepting for interference from this one."

"Could be a compromised recording of the images being broadcast then, rather than the signal's fault," the Doctor said. "That over there appears to be Westminster. Look at the shape of it. And there we have something moving."

"Is there any audio?" the Brigadier demanded, squinting at the screen as if that would somehow improve the fuzzy image. "What the devil…?"

“What is it?” asked Jo as she joined them. “Why that looks kind of like that dragon thing again!”

"Yes, it's our supposed dragon again or something just like it." The Doctor was busy twirling dials on something off to the side, tuning it in. "Whomever is responsible certainly has a taste for stirring up the crowd, don’t they?" He paused to check the readings on his equipment. "And it's being broadcast at a precise strength to assure general British reception but little else. Interesting." He hit a switch. "I'm recording a copy of it."

"I thought what you met up with was smaller than that. Or has it grown?"

“It’s bigger,” Jo confirmed.

"It was healthy enough in size before, but yes, this version would make it tall enough to theoretically damage buildings."

The Brigadier looked back at the communications man. "Any reports coming in about this? Eyewitnesses?"

"No sir. No accounts or damage reports. Only people reacting to the broadcast and wanting to know if it's real. We’re telling them it’s a hoax for now."

"Hm. We could send out a patrol to check the approximate location," the Brigadier said thoughtfully.

"They won't find anything," the Doctor said. "It's an illusion, I'm sure of it."

"Test subjects?"

"I expect so. Using a smaller nation as a sample before experimenting on continents."

"So, would you be able to tell where it is with those satellite reports when they come in?"

The Doctor waved the idea away impatiently. "Nevermind the satellites. I should be able to pinpoint the source of televised signals without their help. You send that auditor of yours after the source of these watch movements. They have to be coming from somewhere."

The Brigadier agreed, moving to the phone to make some calls as the Doctor began hooking some gadgets together and Jo went rummaging for a list of maps and documents he'd requested. By the time the various other ducks were in a row, the Brigadier returned to the worktable to find one machine slowly spitting a coloured graph from its side and another turning back and forth with various tones of hum. He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, waiting.

The Doctor muttered a little and scribbled briefly in the margins of the map. "There it is, that has to be it." He glanced up at them. "The usual identifying protocol were scrambled," he said, "But it's somewhere around _here,_ " he tapped the map a little ways west of London then leaned over to fish a binder from a stack on a nearby shelf, flipping it open and scanning a listing inside. "As I thought. According to these records, there's a broadcasting station in that area and a moderate tower as well, or at least there used to be. Inactive now. That would be the first place to look."

"Closer than I expected," the Brigadier said. "Would whomever it is be so obvious?"

"It wouldn't be obvious to most people," Jo pointed out. 

"We've plenty of daylight left. Jo and I can drive out and give it a closer look. Besides, it'll give me a chance to test drive Bessie; haven't had a chance to try out her newest part."

Lethbridge-Stewart lifted his chin. "I thought you said the newest part was the speedometer." 

"So it is," smiled the Doctor, snagging his cloak from the rack.

"I have better things to do than bailing you out if you get yourself locked up for reckless driving, you know."

"Jo will keep me out of trouble, won't you Jo?" 

"If I'm still in the car." She rolled her eyes at him, but there was more than a touch of the daredevil in his young assistant and he knew it.

"Just don't tell them you're from UNIT," the Brigadier said dryly. "Very well. Remember you're to check in on the hour. Captain Yates is on duty and will be tracking you. Let him know if you need any help. Good luck."

"Thank you," the Doctor said, helping Jo with her coat. "Let's see what we find."

-oo00oo-


	7. 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rather strange drive, and a shabby destination.

**Chapter 27**

-oo00oo-

The autumn weather was cool but thankfully dry; perfect driving weather. Once they were away from the city proper and into the outlaying areas the traffic became light enough that the little car could enjoy a more open throttle and trees and houses whipped past in a blur. 

Jo looked over at the Doctor who was grinning like a little boy as he slowed the roadster back to something resembling a more normal pace. "Well, that wasn't too bad. A little slow on the acceleration still."

Unsmiling, she shook her wind-whipped hair back, wondering why it wasn’t as enjoyable as it usually was. "We'll have to give it another go after you fix that," she said after a moment.

"Of course." He reached in a pocket and handed her the folded up map. "Take a look. We might have a couple good straight stretches ahead of us."

Jo unfolded it on her lap, keeping it well down lest it be snatched away by the wind. "Let me see… there's a bit of curve along here, but about two miles up there's a nice bit running along the fields. We'll just have to watch out for wagons and tractors."

"Wagons and tractors are no problem for Bessie. Let's see how quickly she can get us there."

“It’s not Bessie I’m worried about, but her driver,” Jo muttered, folding her knees tightly over the edge of her seat to help anchor herself as they went into the first of a series of curves. Traffic was light and most of it had siphoned off onto other routes by the time the road opened up into overgrazed pasturage and farmland. The little car shot forward, bouncing slightly as the rapidly covered potholes tried to make themselves known. The Doctor was intent on gauging between the road and the accuracy of the speedometer, squinting as the wind whipped his hair into his eyes, so it was a while before he finally realized he hadn’t heard anything from his companion, who was usually whooping it up by now. He glanced over at her.

Jo was sitting hunched slightly, holding the folded map. She was staring ahead with a blank look on her face that didn’t seem natural somehow. Concerned, he slowed the car. “Jo? Are you all right?” When she didn’t respond, he pulled over onto the muddy verge and reached out to give her shoulder a little shake. “Jo?”

She blinked looked over at him with a somber expression. “What is it?”

“What _is_ it?” he repeated back at her in surprise. “That’s my question for you; you’re acting as if you were half asleep, or in a trance, though you seem to be waking up now.”

She considered this, frowning. “It was strange,” she mused slowly. “I kept thinking how I really ought to be enjoying the drive, but the faster you went, the more I just felt… I don’t know… like I was all muffled under a blanket somehow. Like I couldn’t feel, even if I wanted to. Does that make any sense at all?”

He cocked his head. “Hm. Only when we were driving quickly? Not earlier, in the town?”

“Yes. And now it feels like, like it’s wearing off. Whatever it was. Oh, maybe I’m just being moody. Maybe it’s nothing.”

“Or maybe it’s very definitely something. I want to try a little experiment.” 

“All right.”

He started the car and turned it, bumping along the embankment until they were facing back the other way. “Now,” he said, “we were almost out of clear road there, so we’ll go ahead and use this stretch for another run. You seem to be back to normal.”

“Yes, yes I think so anyway.”

“Good. I’m going to accelerate and I want you to pay _close_ attention to how you are feeling. See if anything changes with the speed.”

“With the speed? But why…well, all right.”

“Here we go.”

Bessie trundled onto the pavement and with a screech of tyres on pavement accelerated rapidly enough to push Jo back into the seat. She started to say something about how she didn’t think it was making any difference but then it didn’t seem worth the effort. It was unimportant, really. An objective calm settled over as she watched her own moods going flat without any alarm about it at all. It was merely an academic curiosity. 

There was a jolt and she found the car rolling once more to a stop at the far end of the fields. The Doctor was shaking her shoulder again, which was mildly annoying. 

“Jo? Jo, what happened? It’s plain something did. Never mind. I was paying more attention this time myself and I think I have a theory as to what’s going on here. You sit there and let it wear off, there’s a good girl.” Setting the brake, he got out of the car and promptly squirreled beneath it. 

He was loosening a clip when the car squeaked and Jo’s feet appeared beside him, followed by her upside-down head. “Doctor, it happened again!”

He tugged the speedometer cable and paused to fish around in his pocket for his sonic screwdriver. “I know.”

“But, what is it? Why is it happening? Is something wrong with me?”

“Not with your emotions, no.” Checking the readings on the diagnostic setting, he put the cable back into place. “Move aside, please.”

Her boots shifted in the muddy grass. “Oh, sorry. Anything I can do to help?”

He worked his way back out into the open with a grunt. “Open the bonnet.” She went to comply as he brushed himself off and fetched a couple tools from back. She watched as he unhooked the battery and climbed back in the front seat, quickly working to pull out the new speedometer so it rolled loosely around in its socket. He rapidly opened it up and pulled out his sonic screwdriver once again for another check, making little _hmming_ sounds in his throat. Jo shivered in the breeze blowing across the field and went around climb back in. 

“Fascinating,” he said. 

“What is?”

“It appears the magnetic eddies are having an unusual effect.”

“Eddies?”

“They’re a natural part of how a speedometer works. It creates a magnetic field, you know, with eddies in the current.”

“I thought it just measured how fast the wheels were going around.”

“That too. In this case, though, we have a speedometer that happens to have a small clock included as a part of the package.”

“That watch! You said there was one of those watch movement things in it. You were going to take that out.”

“Yes, but I rather forgot about it with everything else going on. So what we have here is an emotional circuit embedded in the speedometer. It was likely supposed to create something like what those watches were doing, something to make the driver more anxious or accident-prone I suppose. But that isn’t what happened. The magnetic field of the speedometer being in such close proximity to it must have protected us from its initial effect, then when it reached a certain intensity, I believe it actually reversed it.”

“Made it go backwards?” Jo wondered, not quite following.

“No, no. Reversed the effect of the emotional circuit. It’s still working, but now it’s doing the opposite of what it originally was intended to do! You see? It’s damping the emotions instead of magnifying them.” He reattached the back cover. “I would very much like to run some experiments with it when we get back to UNIT.”

“But what do we do about it now? I don’t want to be _damped_ every time we go down the road.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose for now I’ll simply disconnect it from the power. Without the magnetic effect it should be relatively harmless. If anything the residual effect might just make you a bit more calm and rational, which doesn’t seem like a bad thing.”

“More calm and rational?” Jo said, her voice rising in mock offense. “Whatever would you want me to be like that for?”

He just smiled, adjusted a wire and went to reconnect the battery.

-oo00oo-

"This is it," Jo said.

They pulled up alongside the weed-lined gravel drive and considered their apparent destination. An unassuming concrete block building with a sagging chain-link fence, its drab exterior having been painted at some point in the distant past a ghastly shade of yellow-green. Fat black wires swung away from its electrical poles towards a radio tower in the neighboring field.

He set the brake. "You’re sure this is right." He plucked the map from her hand and double-checked it. "Hm."

"Looked better on the map. We've come all this way, might as well get out and have a look," Jo pointed out, slightly irked at his implication that her navigational skills were somehow to blame for the seedy locale. She opened her door. "Even if it is the middle of nowhere."

"I've seen the middle of nowhere," he said. "For what it's worth, this is nothing like it." He followed suit, pausing only to engage the car's anti-theft field. "All right. Let's see what we have here."

They made their way cautiously to the building, Jo waiting briefly as the Doctor circled it, picking his way through the patches of weeds and windblown old garbage embedded in the grass clumps. Coming back to the front without incident, he gestured to the front door. "Shall we?"

There being no answer to their knock and mild hail, Jo quickly picked the lock and let them in. It was dim inside, a little light flickered from fluorescent tubes overhead and a from a couple small windows set in the concrete blocks. The room smelled of old coffee, mildew, grease and the faint tang of plastic chemicals with something else Jo couldn't identify; obviously not the most well-kept. 

"Hallo?" Jo tried tentatively. No one responded.

The Doctor had already closed the front door behind them, brushing past her to investigate the various equipment and file cabinets laid out around the room, opening drawers briefly and peering at radio-ish looking things with dials and buttons on them. Jo opened what looked like a metal closet door and peered inside. "This is just a storeroom," she said. "What are we looking for?"

"Mm," the Doctor replied. He considered the faded cork bulletin board on the wall. The calendar was three months out of date. "Something relating to television broadcasting." He opened the remaining door, which had a dormant 'broadcasting' labeled light beside it and she followed him in.

"Ah, this is more like it." The small room had shelves with reel-to-reel recorders for radio playback, mixing boards arrayed with sliders and other equipment with tiny glass screens, rows of black buttons on either side of them. Cables seemed to be everywhere. 

A six-foot screen of projection-backing material was stretched over a wooden frame, screening off about a third of the room, beside it a wide laminate and metal desk stood all scattered with papers, old coffee cups, boxes and, incongruously, a stack of black bowler-styled felt hats.

"What are these?" asked Jo, pulling the lid off of a plastic tub, only one from a rack full of them. It was filled to the top with tiny white boxes.

"Let me see one of those." The Doctor pulled open the top and sighed. "As I suspected."

"Those are quartz movement parts?" Jo wondered, looking at the tiny synthetic crystals. "It's the Master but he isn't making them here, is he?"

"No," the Doctor said, dropping a handful of the tiny boxes back into the plastic tub. "He doesn't need any fabrication facilities. He's got enough here to supply entire nations with watches, hundreds in every one of those boxes. All that would remain would be distributing them to the watchmakers." 

"They wouldn't put them in if they knew they were different, would they?" Jo asked.

"He may be planning on simply switching them out with the real thing, and if he succeeds in contaminating the supply of legitimate manufacturers, they could be in any number of timepieces within weeks, not just in the Neutron watches. It would be almost impossible to track them."

Jo opened another tub. "These aren't even boxed. There must be simply gazillions of them! Where did he get them, then?" She gingerly poked a couple fingers into the shining bits to see if they were sharp. 

"What the devil does he think he's doing?" The Doctor shook his head over the heaped tub of loose circuits and picked up a pinch, pushing them around in his palm before dropping them back in. "Probably had them made on another world. There's plenty who would have the ability to manufacture something like this en masse. Where he got them is immaterial, really. What we need to do is to find a way to be sure they aren't put to use."

"But what if…" 

_"Hst."_ The Doctor held up a hand, silencing her. She immediately slipped across the room to get her back against the wall and went still. He slowly backed to the wall beside her then silently edged along it towards the door. 

Out in the main area now Jo could also hear the small movements and felt the light puff of cooler air that had betrayed the front entrance not being quite pulled to. She held her breath as the soft sound came closer. Whomever it was they were being very cautious. 

The Doctor waited by the doorway, completely still. They heard the door to the storeroom creak ever so slightly on its hinges, then the faintest rustle of cloth as the person moved back in their direction. Jo frowned slightly as she also heard what sounded like something small shuffling around at the other end of the room, behind the screen. Rats, maybe? She hoped it was something as innocuous. 

An arm, dark clad and holding a blunt-nosed gun-like weapon slowly came into view past the door frame. The Doctor still didn't move. There was a slight pause. The weapon-bearer stepped through the doorway. 

-oo00oo-


	8. 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain bearded individual arrives with his pet.

**Chapter 28**

-oo00oo-

_"Hai!"_

The weapon clattered to the floor, the rest of the weapon-bearer following with a grimace, his reach to retrieve it not being quite quick enough. 

The Doctor turned the newly captured weapon toward its former owner, who rubbed one wrist as he slowly straightened, raising his hands in apparent resignation.

"Doctor, and Miss Grant," the Master nodded with dignity. "I knew you were here, of course, it was just a matter of where." 

"Then your reflexes need polishing up," the Doctor returned. 

"How did you know?" Jo wondered.

The Master's eyebrow quirked slightly. "Not a tremendously difficult presumption." His eyes went back to the Doctor. "I saw your car. It does stand out a bit, you must realize - but then humility never was one of your stronger virtues, was it?"

"You're one to talk," muttered Jo.

Her mentor only considered his adversary curiously. "To the point: I think it's fair to say you're using this facility for more than mere storage. Those holographic projections have your name written all over them."

"Ah, you flatter me, Doctor." 

"Unintended, I assure you." The Doctor lifted the weapon up again and in spite of himself the other man leaned away from it. "I suggest you show me."

The Master paused, wet his dry lips and took a breath then let it out as if he'd changed his mind about something he was going to say. "Be my guest. Miss Grant, if would you be so kind as to pull aside that screen there…."

Jo looked to the Doctor, who considered it then gave her a nod. Pulling on the 6-foot screen that divided the room, she found it lighter to move than expected as it slid on wide plastic feet. "Oh my goodness, Doctor, look!"

Behind the screen was a bit of London, and to the side, a bit of Birmingham. Pushed up against the wall was a flattened miniature of Blackpool Tower. A boxy television camera was still positioned beside them… and something else. That moved.

Jo pulled in her breath, skittering back against the Doctor. "What is that?" He automatically pulled her within the circle of his free arm, following her gaze.

There was something alive down on the floor. A lumpy, grey-brown lizard-like creature extended out its neck at them and hissed a small spout of flame, walking slowly towards them.

"What do you think it is?" the Master asked sardonically. 

The Doctor frowned down at the pathetic creature. "Are you trying to tell me that this is the dragon all the panic has been about?" The thing on the floor gave a small gargling snarl. He stepped forward slightly and nudged the ugly lizard with the toe of his boot, which it promptly tried to bite in spite of the boot being too large for it to properly get its jaws around. 

The Master looked slightly disappointed, his hands still cautiously in the air.

"Will it grow?" Jo wondered.

Ignoring its snarling attempts to worry at his boot, the Doctor nodded to the camera set up nearby. "And this equipment no doubt produces all of these appallingly misrepresented broadcasts."

"I didn't misrepresent anything," the Master sulked, as if his personal honor had been offended. "It is a dragon and you certainly can't deny that this is Britain."

"Yes," the Doctor said dryly. "But it’s a Polluxian one; now I know why it seemed familiar. Somehow I don't think it's quite in the spirit of old St. George to import it from another solar system. A flock of them might wreak some proverbial havoc on their own planet but only one of them, here? What purpose in whipping up the public with a false rumor? Though I must say, your miniature of Westminster there is quite well done."

"May I lower my hands?" the Master asked with exaggerated courtesy.

"No." 

The Master rolled his eyes heavenward as if pleading for a bolt of reason to strike. "I'm not armed."

"But you still have sleeves, and no doubt something up them," the Doctor noted. "Step away from the wall." He gestured with the gun.

The Master sighed and gave a couple of deliberately exaggerated steps in the indicated direction, revealing the panel of switches he'd had hidden behind him. "Ah, Doctor, _tsk-tsk._ Always so distrustful of my noble motives."

"The day you have a noble motive…" the Doctor said as he sidestepped over to the switches keeping the Master covered. "Enhanced holograms? Oh good grief."

"Well, I _do_ only have the one dragon and it’s a large island. Just being a good steward of my resources."

The switches meant nothing to Jo. "What makes it enhanced?" 

"It's two-way," the Doctor supplied. "He most likely has recordings of the reactions from those who encountered these images."

"But of course," the Master smiled.

"One apparent-dragon per broadcasting tower, perhaps? But again," he twitched the weapon at his adversary again as the latter's arms began to come down. The Master gave a longsuffering sigh and raised them back up. "Who stands to benefit?" he continued. "It isn't like you to engage in elaborate smoke-and-mirrors just for your own entertainment. Are you trying to roust out the entire military to chase phantoms? Driving an entire population into a panic? You've no doubt struck a deal with someone. Who?"

"If this is going to be a lengthy conversation, perhaps you might at least allow me to feed that creature before it consumes your footwear? I did come here with peaceful intent, you see. It _is_ its mealtime."

The Doctor snorted. “Peaceful?”

"What does it eat?" asked Jo dubiously. She wasn't sure what to make of the rather unattractive alien creature, though she normally had a soft spot for animals. "Not other animals, I hope!"

"No, nothing so distasteful to you, my dear Miss Grant. I've found the chemicals that naturally occur in assorted varieties of _Nicotiana Tabacum_ are suitable to the need." 

She frowned at him. "In what? Isn't that tobacco?" 

"I expect he's right," the Doctor said. "Polluxian dragons are omnivorous in their own environment but would be restricted here, Earth's chemical makeup being rather dissimilar. Tobacco would provide an element of its native food."

"If I may?" the Master indicated a stack of cigar boxes on a desk. The Doctor assented, though he kept watch closely as the other Time Lord took up a box and quickly unwrapped two cigars, which he then offered to the dragon. It immediately left off worrying the Doctor's boot and gulped them down, paper wrapper and all, chewing messily with its mouth open to Jo's obvious disgust. The smell of tobacco juice wafted up at them.

He tipped the box towards them. "Would you like one?"

"No thank you, we just ate," the Doctor replied. 

"As you like." The Master helped himself to a cigar, tucking it into his pocket. "You know your interference is, as usual, both uninvited and unwelcome. It's hardly gentlemanly of you."

"Nor is it gentlemanly of _you_ to not only terrorize the countryside but to ignore my question. I'll ask again, who are you working with?"

The Master set the cigar box back on top of the others. "And if I decide not to tell you, what then?"

The Doctor leaned back against the edge of a desk, still keeping the weapon at ready. "Then I suppose I'll have to make an educated guess."

"Educated?"

"Yes. If anything I've had to become overeducated in what to expect from you. You've met up with your mercenary ginger friends again, haven't you?"

The Master pursed his lips but didn't reply.

"Do they understand yet that this world is not free for the taking? Humans are quite resourceful and there's no doubt they will fight back. Or haven't you reported that troublesome little detail?"

"Not in so many words." 

The Doctor raised a brow. "Not in so many words?"

The Master gave a thin-lipped smile. "A minor detail, as you say, and easily resolved."

"I see. With you as the local expert in subjugating the populace."

"Thankfully their former customers, which you so unkindly persuaded to leave, I might add, aren't the only ones interested in finding a use for this pathetic little planet."

Jo hugged herself. "You mean those nasty little rubbery things that were down in those tunnels?" *

"No, I don't think we'll see those again, Jo," the Doctor interjected. "But I had hoped those ginger devils had moved on as well. Perhaps they would have if you weren't encouraging them otherwise."

The Master shrugged. 

The Doctor waved a hand at the surrounding boxes and cables. "And these handy recordings of people falling into terror, these are to reassure your friends that you're being successful in your intimidation tactics?"

The Master shook his head in mock pity. "Ah, Doctor. How you reduce works of art to mere thuggery with your words."

"I merely name it for what it is. The overreactions to frightening images would shortly reduce every affected person to either fisticuffs or hysteria. That would be your cue to follow it up with a new and _apparently_ charismatic Leader who can instantly soothe them, remove the things they fear and make everything seem all right again. Am I close?"

"The worship of a rescuer!" Jo put in, "Why, that's…"

"Sheer brilliance?" interrupted the Master.

"I was going to say 'simply awful' if you want to know," she scowled.

The Doctor nodded. "Making yourself the rescuer who sets things right, the George who slays the dragon so to speak. Very clever."

The Master preened slightly at that. "Knowing the local mythologies is always helpful. Keeps the natives happy."

"But it isn't like anyone worships old St. George," Jo protested, offended in spite of herself. "It's just an old story. We aren't a bunch of primitives who'll fall for thinking you're some kind of god."

"No, he wouldn’t be using that aspect of it, I don't believe," the Doctor clarified. He cocked an eye at his old adversary. "He means the magnified emotional impact of being rescued from some undefined and terrible fate. Gratitude and hero-worship almost invariably follow under the right circumstances."

"Something you've made good use of yourself," the Master smirked, rewarded with a hard look from his companion Time Lord.

"You'll find it's quite temporary," the Doctor corrected him in a brittle voice. "Sometimes measured in seconds."

"Speaking of which, no doubt you have those military friends of yours waiting somewhere about. Why you work with them, I'll never understand. Perhaps you enjoy their little treats and pats on the head when you save their miserable lives? Is it worth it?"

The Doctor's face was unreadable. "My own motives are hardly relevant."

"Of course, of course," the Master said soothingly. He reached over to the stack of black bowler-styled hats on the desk and plucked one from the pile, putting it on and brushing bits of tobacco from his sleeves. "I suppose I'm as ready to be taken into their ridiculous custody as I'll ever be. Though you do realize their prisons aren't likely to hold me long."

"We'll see." The Doctor gestured to the door with the weapon. "Shall we?"

"Ah, Doctor, always so impatient. Very well." He reached out a hand to the desk lamp that stood nearby, as if to turn it off. 

One motion. That was all it took. With a hard sweep of his hand, he smashed the lamp into the desk, shattering the twin bulbs and pushing it straight into the open tub of circuits that stood beside the desk. The emptied electrical sockets filled with the tiny bits, sparking hundreds of them to life.

The effect was instantaneous; Jo grabbed at her hair and spun, curling towards the floor with an almost soundless scream before blacking out. 

The Doctor turned towards her then staggered against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut as he struggled to construct mental shields that could stay shored up against the mind-crumbling flood of discordant, disjointed emotional impulses that slammed him back. Slowly, he turned towards the desk, reaching out to the edge like a drowning man as the whirlpool spun him, pulled him under and finally forced him down into unconsciousness. 

-oo00oo-

Outside the small building, a passing sedan crunched through dry weeds as it slowed to a stop on the shoulder. The man inside pushed his hat back on his head and frowned out the window.

John Babcock had had a busy day, tracing where the suspicious watch movements were being distributed from. He didn't know much about why they were suddenly so vitally important but his efficiency had proven Lethbridge-Stewart's evaluation of his con-man-ferreting skills had not been entirely misplaced. The Brigadier had been pleased to hear the man was already in the process of tracking the distribution back from the watch manufacturer, even before he'd been asked.

But this! This had to be the wrong address.

Starting up the car again, he studied the map and reviewed his own notes. No, this really was the address. Something had obviously either been falsified along the way or the con-men had bribed the delivery driver or postal workers. He must have missed a beat. He rubbed at his eyes, annoyed at having been taken on a detour by the criminal element right when he wanted to prove himself to the Brigadier. 

In light of his earlier misadventure being an abject failure, he'd greatly regretted giving in to his previous whim and had determined he would never again try to tag along after that eccentric scientist of theirs. He would just stick with the job he was given - which is why, when he began to roll his sedan forward again, the sight of a distinctly familiar yellow car made him groan with dismay.

"But I didn't follow him!" Babcock protested to his steering wheel, giving that unoffending circle a smack of frustration. Still… If the Doctor was after the same things he was after, it would make sense they would end up in the same place. Was it the right address after all? That little concrete hulk?

He pulled his own car up beside the roadster and after a moment's consideration, got out. Just in case, he reached into the back seat of his car and extracted a pair of folded beige coveralls. Yes, he had a couple tricks of his own for gaining access to buildings he needed to audit. He'd prove himself yet.

-oo00oo-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A/N: Slight references to earlier events were a part of the second episode in this series, "A Custom Order," in which an alien contingent, under persuasion by their ginger informants, intended to put the old War Machines from One’s era back into use before they themselves were frightened away.


	9. 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost and found.

-oo00oo-

The Doctor opened his eyes, suddenly aware that they were closed. 

It was very dim. He was lying on cold concrete and the tang of hot metal was in the air. Sitting up cautiously, he cursed his own foolishness under his breath. How could he have let this happen? He'd been too confident, he had to admit, thinking he'd nearly had him, and distracted by too many other thoughts. So here they were, he and Jo locked in the small storage room, shelves full of dusty obsolete equipment wrapped in plastic at one end, a tiny ventilation grille at the other. 

He leaned over his limp assistant, briefly checking her pulse; the light touch made her stir slightly with a groan. Jo opened her eyes and blinked at the cinderblock wall in confusion as he got up to test the door. It was a heavy metal door and the knob was warm to the touch. Laying his ear against the flat surface, he listened but there was no sound discernable in the main room.

"Well, that's done it," he grumbled, giving it a bang with a closed fist. 

"Locked?" Jo asked in a faint voice as she sat up, rubbing her temples. A thin stripe of grey light came in beneath the door and even that seemed too bright at first.

"He's probably fused the lock, but not too long ago; it's still warm." He turned to kneel beside her, his eyes concerned, one hand gently smoothing her hair. "Are you all right?"

"If you mean am I _not_ going to be acting like I've gone round the bend, yes," she said. She hugged her knees to her chest, resting her forehead on them. "Sorry." 

"Not your doing," he consoled. 

"What happened anyway?"

The Doctor went over to the ventilation grille and prodded at it briefly. "Imagine every emotionally based thought, feeling, nuance or habit within you had a voice."

"All right," she frowned in consideration. "That would be a lot of voices."

"Yes. And they were all shouting at once. You could say it was a bit like having your emotions hit with a rubber mallet. Just reflex."

"A mallet?" she rubbed at her temples again. "Feels like it, but not a rubber one. This means he's gotten away too, doesn't it?"

"Unfortunately, yes. He stunned the both of us. In light of that incapacitation, I'm a bit surprised we're still alive."

"In too much of a hurry to properly gloat over us I guess. Didn’t even tie us up." 

The Doctor laughed softly at that. "You're probably right." He settled next to her and looked up at the shelving absently.

"But why didn't it affect _him?_ " she asked after a moment.

"Obviously he was shielded from the effect, most likely a bit of something in those hats."

" _That's_ why he put one on!"

He pulled up his own knees and fingered the damage the creature's chewing had done to the finish on his boot. "Very clever, really, making it a part of common clothing. I designed something of the sort back when the Cybermen were using emotional circuitry, but those were merely cobbled together and not nearly so stylish."

"He had a whole stack of them."

"Yes. He probably took them with him for himself and his friends, if you can call them that."

They sat in silence a few moments, each with their own thoughts.

"If that's all the friendship he has I almost feel sorry for him," Jo observed after a while.

The Doctor didn't reply.

-oo00oo-

"Any word from the Doctor and Miss Grant yet?" Yates asked impatiently.

"None, sir," said the communications tech. "But the radios are all in working order."

The Captain clasped his hands behind his back. The hard-won satellite information had finally arrived in a locked leather briefcase but it would do little good without the Doctor's analysis of it. Where were they? They'd missed their check-in by some time now. He was probably worrying about nothing, he thought, but nonetheless…

"If they haven't contacted us in the next quarter-hour we're going to go find them."

"Yes sir."

-oo00oo-

Responding to an insistent light knocking at the front, the Master walked over to the building's lone entrance, lifted his hat to smooth his hair and paused to straighten his black shirt, concealing the weapon he carried beneath his equally dark jacket. Opening the door, his face composed itself into a polite blandness, ready to be meek or murderous as the situation called for. 

An equally bland man with short mousey brown hair stood on the concrete pad wearing a beige caretaker's coverall, a battered tool-belt hanging about his waist, clipboard and rag in hand. "Weekly service," he said, as if somewhat bored with the proceedings. "Sorry to interrupt."

"Ah, of course," the Master said, stepping to the side to allow him to enter. 

The caretaker thrust the small clipboard at him. "You must be new. Anyway, here's a pen. Just the usual sweep, dust and restroom restock unless you need anything else?"

The Master scribbled something illegible on the line and handed it back. "Yes, just the usual," he said carefully. "And I'm so glad you came by. It's most unusual, yes… it seems some madmen broke into this very station earlier today!"

"Yeah?" the caretaker asked a bit blankly. He dug a finger into one ear.

The Master relaxed, the man obviously wasn't too intelligent. He kept his voice soothing and off-hand. "Yes, most shocking, of course. I've taken the precaution of locking them in the storeroom and was just on my way out to contact the police. I don't think they're tremendously dangerous, of course. It's just to find out which asylum they may have come from."

"In the storeroom? Some of my cleaning supplies are in there."

"I do apologize for the inconvenience. You'll still be paid for the job, just don't open that door no matter what they say. They are somewhat mad, you understand; I can't be responsible if you do."

"Right," the man agreed. "Don't open it or the nutters get out. I got it. Um, you want the lightbulbs checked?"

"Whatever you like," the Master said. 

"All right." 

He wasted no more time on the caretaker, but picked up a large cloth bag and went out the door, pulling it firmly shut behind him as he slipped away.

Taking a broom from where it leaned in a corner, the caretaker slowly swept the floor near the entrance, just in case the strange man in black returned. After a couple of minutes, he took up the small rug that lay by the entry and opened the door to shake it out. There was no one to be seen. He shut the door and locked it, feeling extremely pleased with himself. The building was small and the storeroom not difficult to locate. 

He knocked on the grey metal door. "Doctor? Are you in there?" he asked. "It's me, John Babcock. I saw your car."

"Mr. Babcock!" came the muffled but distinctive voice of the Doctor. "Good man. Can you get this door open?"

"I…" He gave the knob a good look for the first time. "…it's, my God, it's melted! The metal on the lock…how…?"

-oo00oo-

"I expected as much," the Doctor sighed from where they were in the darkness. "Look here. The hinges!" he said. "They're on the outside. Can you take it off of its hinges?"

There was a pause outside the door. "I guess I can try…" Babcock’s voice sounded doubtful. "Maybe I should just go back and call for some help."

"No, no. Don't leave," the Doctor said quickly. "Who knows what will happen to us then," he murmured aside to Jo. "The Master no doubt has something in mind." He raised his voice again. "There's some tools in the adjoining room. Try those. All you need to do is knock out the hinge pins."

"Right…" They heard his footsteps moving away. 

Jo pressed her ear against the door. "But what about the…" she started just as they heard the man's shout of surprise and a scrambling, crashing noise as he apparently bounced off of nearby shelving. 

"What is that?!" he called. 

"It's a Polluxian dragon," the Doctor called back in annoyance. "And it won't hurt you! Now if you can get this door open…"

"Right. Right." They heard the adjoining door slam and screeching noises as he dragged something over to block it. Jo stifled a laugh behind her hand, remembering her own reaction. After a minute or so a gentle tapping could be heard on the other side of the metal door.

"Hey," Babcock suddenly realized. "That thing in there looks just like the dragon we saw! It isn't a _baby_ one, is it?"

"No," the Doctor said. "It's the _same_ one. What you saw was a holographic magnification."

"A what? Did you say magnification? Like making it look bigger?"

"In essence, yes. Magnification usually does that."

The tapping on the hinges resumed. 

They waited impatiently, listening to the pin-removal efforts. "Where has the Master gone to?" the Doctor asked. "A bearded man, dressed in black? Did you see?"

"No," Babcock's muffled reply came back. "I saw the man but he said he was going off to call the police. I think it was poppycock; just like you weren't nutters. Then off he went."

"At least not any _real_ police," Jo noted cynically. 

"Yes," the Doctor agreed. He turned back to the door. "If anyone comes, be wary of them; they may be under hypnosis." 

"Right. Whatever you say," Babcock grunted, banging at the hinge pins. "These aren't coming out." 

"What will we do if the Master comes back and finds him?" wondered Jo quietly. 

The Doctor shook his head. 

-oo00oo-

Outside the building a cold autumn wind was picking up, rushing over the dry grasses, bouncing the tattered clumps and their embedded roadside garbage. The gravel crackled as a pair of jeeps rolled to a stop, a handful of men in fatigues emerging then quietly spreading out at their Captain's gesture.

They approached the familiar yellow vehicle cautiously, checking around both it and the plain sedan that stood by its side. 

"Well, they definitely came here…" Captain Yates noted. 

"What if they've gone missing, sir? Do we leave it here or take it back to headquarters?" one of the men wondered.

Another shook his head. " _Could_ we even take it back? I thought he had some kind of alarm on it?" 

"Point taken," Yates said. "And we can certainly hope no one has gone missing. Leave it alone for now and don't touch it, but I want a watch kept. Let me know if anyone approaches it. I'm not sure whose sedan this is, but they're bound to be nearby."

"Yes sir!"

"Corporal, call in for identification on this vehicle. I want to know who owns it."

"Yes sir. What about the building?"

Yates considered the cinderblock station. He didn't care to be lambasted by the Doctor for interrupting but…. "Keep watch for now and check the perimeter, but if we don't see anyone soon we'll be going in."

-oo00oo-

The Doctor, having abandoned any further conversation with the man on the other side of the door, poked around in the old equipment on the shelves. Jo expected it was more to have something to do than because he thought any of it might be of any help, but the dust he was inadvertently sprinkling down on her made her want to cough. She finally got up and went to the door again. 

"Mr. Babcock? How are you doing out there?"

"I'm…uh, oh this thing isn't working at all. I was trying to pry it. Let me try this…"

Jo startled slightly as a couple of loud bangs hit the door, followed by more hammering on the hinges. "How did you find us?" she asked.

"I was looking for where…unh, _bang_ … those watch pieces were being distributed from… _bang_ … and it led me here."

Jo looked impressed. "So he wasn't following us this time," she whispered to the Doctor where he was now idly fiddling with the innards of a metal box. "Maybe he's smarter than you gave him credit for."

"A good blood-hound, anyway," the Doctor conceded, "if a bit of a plodder."

After a few more banging attempts Babcock paused. "Your car has one of those radios in it, doesn't it?" he called to them.

"Well, yes, but…" Jo started. 

"I can't get this to budge. I'll be right back." 

"Wait!" Jo called.

"Babcock, you fool, you won't be able to…" the Doctor snapped, then stopped as they faintly heard the front door closing. 

They looked at one another. Jo took the Doctor's arm. "But, if he tries to get that radio…." 

"Yes," he pulled her over and gave her shoulders a squeeze with faint comfort. "He'll be stuck quite firmly to Bessie. We'll have to find another way out of this."

-oo00oo-

Striding up to the old car John Babcock was mentally shaking his head at the ridiculousness of anyone even owning an open-topped car in England, as well as the huge security risk such a vehicle must be anytime it was left alone. What point would there be in locking the doors when anyone could simply reach over and pop it back open again? It left far too much to mere trust in the common-man's honesty, something he personally knew was not nearly common enough. Ruminating on this, he reached for the door handle.

A strong hand clapped onto his outstretched arm and spun him away from it to bounce off of his own vehicle's fender. "Wha…?" he gasped.

"Hold! You sir, hands in the air. Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Babcock gaped at the camouflage fatigue-dressed man who now held him at gunpoint. A second man came out from behind his own car while a third rose up from the thick grasses and twisted shrubs. This one promptly began muttering something into a portable radio set.

His heart pounded in his throat. Police. They had to be police. Maybe the _hypnotised_ police the Doctor had warned him against! 

He heard a jeep engine roar to life behind a neighboring copse of trees.

"I'm… well, I don't know if I should tell you who I am. Who are you? You might be in trouble if you arrest me, I'm a secret government official." he lamely countered, not encouraged when the man's face distinctly twitched with amusement. He tried to look imposing and official to little apparent effect.

The jeep trundled up to them, bouncing over the rough ground. A lean man in a khaki uniform bearing a UNIT patch jumping from the door even before it had quite stopped. The worried aide breathed a sigh of relief. This one he most thankfully recognized. 

"Captain Yates! I can't tell you how nice it is to see a familiar face…sir."

"I wondered if you would turn up."

"How did you know I was here?" he asked, then coloured defensively. "I wasn't following…"

Yates smiled. "Your car."

"…Oh, right," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"What I need to know right now is about this _other_ one. Have you seen the Doctor or Miss Grant anywhere about?"

"Well, yes and no. I've certainly heard them!" He quickly explained about the jammed storeroom door, and the strange man in black who had departed so precipitously when he arrived. "…So I can't get it to come off. They aren't hurt, or at least I don't think so."

Yates waved to his men. "You two, keep a watch on the road. The Master or one of his associates might be back. Roberts and Harrison, you go round the back. Corporal, fetch that cutting torch from the kit and follow me." 

Babcock started ahead to lead the way only to have the Captain's hand tap his shoulder. 

"One moment," he said. "Let me see your eyes."

"My eyes?" the man wondered, then jumped as the Captain snapped his fingers in front of his nose. He frowned. "What was that for?"

"It isn't like the Master to just leave someone free without hypnotising them first," Yates said, peering at his face a moment then pushing past him. "You seem to be fine but the Doctor can double-check after we get him out."

Babcock followed him protesting. "But I would know if someone had done anything like that to me. I wouldn't be unaware of it."

"Not necessarily." 

John shivered a bit in spite of himself. Maybe this whole UNIT thing wasn't what he wanted to be a part of after all.

Ahead of him, Mike's long legs had already carried him to the entry. He opened it cautiously, checking behind the swing of the door before going in, Babcock and the Corporal following after.

"Doctor?" he called. "Miss Grant?"

"They're in there," the government aide was saying behind him, even as he heard their muffled voices and a knocking in response. The Captain raised his brows as he briefly considered the melted knob and lock, poking at it curiously then turned his attention to the battered hinges as the soldier following him knelt to begin assembling the tools.

"Mike, is that you?" came Jo's voice. 

The Doctor's voice came from behind the door also, muffled but distinct. "Captain! You didn't happen to find a man stuck to my car by any chance?" 

"No, not this time," he smiled as they finished setting up the torch. "All right, stay back from the hinges; we're going to start cutting." Behind him, that annoying government man was mumbling something apologetic about not being able to pry out the pins again. He ignored him, shielding his eyes as the light brightened around the flame, cutting nearly but not quite through the top, then doing the same to the bottom one.

"Nearly there. Take care it doesn’t fall in on you!" he called to his trapped comrades. A couple quick moves of the torch and the hinges parted, the heavy metal door tipping out with a protesting groan, twisting where its lock-bolt still fastened it at the knob. The door was pulled to the side, revealing its two former prisoners squinting in the brighter light.

"About time," the Doctor said.

-oo00oo-


	10. 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm beginning to think we're just a holiday stopover for any hostile alien going past."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Brief references to an earlier alien encounter in the tunnels of Corsham and to the War Machines are once more from the events of earlier stories in this series, 'A Custom Order,' and 'A Custom Vehicle.'

-oo00oo-

 

In spite of the Doctor's somewhat cynical greeting to the Captain upon their rescue, Jo was less reserved about her gratitude and impulsively threw her arms around Yates, so pleased she was to be out of the storage room. She stepped back and looked up at the man, whose ears had suddenly gone bright red. "Thank you, Mike."

"No…don't mention it," he said and turned to the nearest distraction. "Corporal, get that cutter packed away. Doctor, I wanted you to check that man, that Ministry fellow."

"I thought you said he _didn't_ get stuck to the car."

"Not that. We were concerned he might have been hypnotised, since he did meet the Master. We found him about to break into your car, plus he's dressed oddly."

"Where is he?"

"Uh, right here," Babcock volunteered nervously from just behind Yates. "And I was only trying to get to the radio." Ever since this hypnotism idea had been brought up he'd been worried it was true and wondered if being 'checked' would involve pain.

The Doctor merely looked at him with narrowed eyes, and that only for a brief moment. "Of course he isn't," he declared, dismissing the relieved man with a wave of his fingers. "Though I suppose the caretaker's outfit could be construed as odd in a Ministry man."

"I keep them in my car. For a disguise," Babcock offered weakly. Somehow it didn't seem nearly as clever saying it like that. Not that he needed to worry about their impressions, as they had already turned away from him to considering their situation, barely affording him another thought.

"So the Master is apparently well away," began Yates. "What's our next step?"

"We've got to stop him of course," the Doctor said. 

"You’re sure those, whatever they weres, those rugby-ball alien things that were down in the tunnels aren’t behind this?" Jo asked, still a bit uncertain.

"I thought it was war machine things down there," Babcock ventured.

"What does any of that have to do with this?" asked Yates.

"No, no," The Doctor shook his head at his assistant. "That was only a business deal. They were merely hedging their bets with those unfortunate creatures; lining up another customer for extra profit while flattering them about being conquerors. Radipeds are not empire-builders. No…not them."

"Then what?" The aide was looking at them blankly, unsure if he was even a part of the conversation. 

Jo sat down on one of the cheap office chairs. "Then, those horrid black-eyed men…," she began hesitantly.

"The ones who boxed us up?" asked Yates with a frown. He did not like being reminded of how he and Jo had been briefly kept captive as mere samples of human life.

"With the ginger colouring." The Doctor ran a couple fingers through his own silver-white curls. "Sorry to have to say it, but yes, more than likely directly involved. Their actual name, when people have to refer to them at all, is generally unpronounceable so calling them _Gingers_ works well enough, those familiar with them will know what you mean. And they’re more than likely working as cohorts with the Master in some capacity. If they succeed in selling the Earth in an interstellar business deal, not only would this world's resources be at stake, but its population as well. There are any number of ways they could've attempted wholesale destruction of life if they only wanted to sell the minerals, but then who would mine it? They might preserve plant life, but who would do the harvesting? No, I think we're looking at a plan to subjugate, not kill."

"Well, that's a faint comfort," Yates observed.

“Very faint,” Jo noted.

"Wait a minute," Babcock put in. He was a bit stirred up as this was something he could understand, for he remembered the strange men. They’d cost his department a lot of money. "You're talking about those same blokes that cheated the Ministry - the ones who ordered all those parts and built that ship thing?" 

"Yes," both Jo and the Doctor chorused in vague annoyance, silencing him again.

Jo crossed her legs then recrossed them restlessly. "Are you sure it isn't just the Master by himself? He would love to have everyone obeying him, wouldn't he?"

The Doctor gave her a wry smile. "Oh yes, he likes it well enough but he merely wants the benefit. The crown and the parade, if you will; his portrait in every house. He doesn't want to be bogged down in the administration of a government. He might enjoy being the monarchical figurehead as long as someone else is doing the work of reaping. And what was being reaped would go to the highest bidder."

"Tell me if I’m wrong, but we're being set up as a, as a _product_ to _sell?_ " said Yates.

The Doctor leaned back and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Essentially, in as many words, yes." 

The captain growled something, clamping his mouth shut on an uncomplimentary descriptive for the Master as he remembered Jo's presence.

The Doctor quirked his eyebrows at the reaction. "Rather."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Yates moved his arms impatiently. "Shouldn't we get busy locating him then?” Jo stood, nodding in agreement.

"What about that lizard in there?" Babcock asked as they all began to move.

"What? Oh, I'd forgotten about it," the Doctor said. "Yes, I suppose we ought to box it up at the very least."

Yates paused. "Lizard?" 

"The dragon that everyone was seeing," Jo explained as they went to pull the furniture away from the door again. "Except not so big."

"Fetch a metal box, there's a good chap," the Doctor added. "It spouts flame so wood won’t do."

“Flame?” The captain blinked, then settled for nodding and sending a man to find a box before lending a hand with the furniture that still blocked the back room’s door. He’d find out soon enough. The doorway was quickly cleared and opened.

 _"Fnaaarghff!"_ growled the creature, hissing from where it was hunkered beneath a metal desk. The room was in a shambles; it had apparently both burnt up and chewed on the trampled dioramas in the interim and the air stank of charred paper, melted plastics, rubber and paint. Yates coughed, the corporal coming in behind him fanned the air with his hands.

"Well, we've put him out of the dragon business, anyway," Jo said, making a face at the fumes. "His hologram whatsit is still here and we have the dragon."

The Doctor was picking his way over the jumbled furniture and remains of dioramas for a closer examination. He swept a hand through some dangling connectors in disgust. "I suppose it was to be expected. He's taken both the repository feedback block and the integrated hologen circuit."

"Which means?" asked Yates.

"Which means he can build another unfortunately, any schoolboy could." He sighed in frustration. "He had recordings also. They're gone."

"And he took the hats," Jo observed sourly. “Figures.”

"I'll be needing this," the Doctor said, indicating a piece of boxy equipment. "And I want this place watched, at least until we can deal with the contents of those bins. Have one of your men crate that dragon," he directed, "and bring those cigars. But take care, it bites." He stepped over the miniature Westminster and offered Jo a hand to help her over as well then led her out the door. 

Yates looked after them and glanced at the corporal who shrugged. He took a breath. "All right, you heard him. Get that… thing there into a box of some kind. Metal."

"And bring the cigars," reminded the man.

"Without helping yourselves to them," Yates said, noting his coveting tone. "If they were the Master's who knows what could be in them."

"Yes sir."

-oo00oo-

 

Lethbridge-Stewart tapped his swagger-stick on his thigh with irritation as he walked slowly and deliberately to the window and back. Behind him, Sergeant Benton examined the metal ammunition box that sat by the lab's hat-rack, hastily drilled holes peppering its top and a snorting sound coming from within. 

"Wouldn't win many beauty pageants, would it?" he noted, angling to look in on one of the holes. A wet bit of snout pressed up against it, raising a disc of brown-grey flesh. 

"You can feed it if you like," the Doctor said, waving a hand. "There's cigars there, in those boxes."

"Captain Yates mentioned that." Benton obediently flipped open a box and set about unwrapping one.

The Brigadier kept tapping his stick. "If I understand right, _both_ of you were affected by that shock…"

"Yes. Contrary to popular belief I'm not entirely impervious to emotional impacts." The Doctor said dryly. He was picking away at a bit of wire on his workbench. "Especially not an amplified chaotic signal in close proximity. It's a good thing Jo blacked out as quickly as she did, probably saved her mind from a severe overload." 

This earned him a sharp look. The Brigadier did not like to be reminded of the peril the young agent seemed to so often encounter with her mentor. Not that the Doctor was to blame for that peril directly, of course, but still... "So it affects everyone including, presumably, the Master. At least in close proximity. Could we use that against him?"

"He has the ability to block it, a polarizer he's incorporated into those hats."

"But you can reproduce them?"

The Doctor looked slightly irritated. "Of course. It's what I'm working on right now."

"Does this mean we'll all be outfitted in bowlers?" asked Benton.

They looked over at the Sergeant, who was kneeling by the padlocked metal box, literally feeding a cigar into the hole on the top. A slavering, grunting noise came from inside. "There you go," the Sergeant added cheerfully. "You want another?" 

The Brigadier's mustache curled slightly in revulsion. He turned back to the Doctor. "Not if I can help it. My men would look ridiculous, like a platoon of bankers."

"Bowlers aren't necessary," the Doctor said, holding a bit of wire up to the light to check the tip on it. "If you don't mind a clip on your collar, the local haberdashery will be quite safe from your military presence." He poked around in one of his pockets and pulled out a jeweler's loupe.

"Hungry little thing," Benton commented, unwrapping another cigar. 

The Doctor screwed in the loupe, flicked on a work lamp and carefully tweaked something. "It probably won't survive long no matter how much tobacco you feed it. It never should've been taken from its native planet."

The Brigadier paced over to the window and back, pausing to look at the jumble of equipment the Doctor had instructed them to bring from the small broadcasting station. One of the boxes was already on the operating table, so to speak, its wire guts hanging out beneath the Doctor's work-lamp. 

"We have a 24-hour surveillance on that station," he commented.

The Time Lord's eyes were on his work, adjusting something with a tiny tool then reaching for a roll of thin soldering wire. "He's really not likely to return to it, you know. He'll probably just find some other way to link into the broadcasting satellites."

"And that's another thing," the Brigadier grumbled. "All we went through to get that satellite information and it wasn't even needed. Going to make us look like fools."

A tiny puff of smoke went up from the soldering iron. "Where is it?"

"In my office. I glanced at it this morning; reams of numbers, more your sort of thing than mine."

The Doctor paused, popping excess solder from the iron. "Yes. There may be something of use there yet, just not what it was originally intended for. I'd like to see it."

"Right. Benton…"

The Sergeant was already heading out the door. "Yes sir!"

He turned back to his advisor. "Let me know the minute those blocking…things are ready."

"Polarizers. I'll have a sample for your technicians soon. You can send one of them along to fetch it at half-past."

He started to walk out then turned around again. "Out of curiosity, what are you looking for in those records?"

The Doctor glanced back up at him. "Partners in crime, Brigadier. If the Master needs to create recordings to impress them, chances are they've only recently come back to see the show. The satellite records might tell us when and, more importantly, where."

" _Another_ spaceship, you mean?"

"Perhaps."

"What the blazes is this world coming to. I'm beginning to think we're just a holiday stopover for any hostile aliens going past."

The Doctor went back to his work, the soldering iron hissing on its wet square of sponge. "Not quite. If it's any consolation, I expect they're the same lot as before." He dropped the loupe into his palm and pocketed it, turning the tiny polarizer under the light critically.

"Which ones? The ginger ones who built that ship in Chippenham?"

"Very likely. We already know they're in this solar system. Probably just a ship to surface shuttle if they have one, rather than a full-sized craft."

There was a thump of hurried footsteps and a breathless Benton returned, a thick leather case under one arm. "Here it is," he said, handing it over to the Brigadier, who unlocked it and handed it to the Doctor. 

The Doctor opened it and riffled briefly through the papers examining headings. Selecting a section, he pulled it out and unceremoniously scooped a scatter of tubes, wires and scraps into a heap at the end of the table so he could spread them out. The Brigadier leaned over his shoulder for a moment curiously, but still couldn't make head nor tail of what he was seeing. Benton hovered behind them both, waiting to see what sort of rabbit the Doctor might pull out of his hat this time.

The Doctor ran his hand over columns of numbers while jotting something on a piece of paper, then rummaged briefly in his pile of scraps to pull out a somewhat tattered map of Britain that looked like it had been used to wrap sandwiches. This he smoothed briefly and studied. 

"There it is, Brigadier!" He tapped it triumphantly. "They made landfall near Gravesend."

Alistair spluttered slightly. "Gravesend? What…just over in Kent?"

"They might have chosen it because of the proximity to the watch factory there."

He frowned. "How the devil do you know that?"

The Doctor quirked a small smile. "Why, because of Bessie of course. Her original speedometer was manufactured there. I made inquiries to see if they could duplicate it before using your military supply, but they only make watches now." He was apparently pleased with himself. 

The Brigadier leaned over the map. "That's practically in our back yard."

"Yes. And now that his friends have arrived for their demonstration of his cowing of the populace we _may_ know where to find the Master. That man, that Babcock fellow, has he traced the distribution of those watch movements yet?"

"Yes! For all his faults on the field, he's quite efficient in other areas. We're reasonably sure production and distribution was limited to only a small run of compromised Neutron watches and those seem to have been confined to Britain with a handful gone to various high-profile individuals in Ireland."

"Most likely as a test case for some future nonsense with those projections. No dragon sightings reported in Ireland?"

"No."

"Maybe he was planning leprechauns or something," grinned Benton, his smile fading as the others just looked at him. He shrugged apologetically and changed the subject slightly. "So how do we find a spaceship in Gravesend?"

"Oh, that shouldn't be too difficult," the Doctor said. "I should be able to narrow it by tracing the emanations of its drive system and plotting a trajectory. It wouldn’t be in the town proper, of course. More likely in the countryside."

"Well, it sounds like we have a direction then," the Brigadier said, relieved. He hated waiting. "We've started in on locating any planned shipments to international destinations and stopping them. Any Neutron watches we can find are being confiscated under assorted pretenses."

"They should be destroyed," the Doctor emphasized. "Not only because of the compromised movements; but because they're still an anachronism. I would very much encourage you to use whatever pretenses are necessary to see to that as well. But that only addresses the ones that have already been manufactured and shipped out."

"I'm aware of that. Sergeant Benton, give Mr. Babcock a ring. See what he can do to stop the installation of those movements at any identified watch manufacturing sites." He swiveled on his heels again. "And now…?"

"Now we find that spaceship."

-oo00oo-


	11. 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one ever abandoned agreements with the Master. Well, nearly no one.

**Chapter 31**

-oo00oo-

Though his smooth movements did not betray it, except perhaps in the smouldering hazel eyes, the Master was furious. After all he had done, all he had risked, all the hours he had spent procuring and persuading to assure that the appropriate circuitry was in place for this day. How dare they shut him out now? Who had given them all the geological and natural resource data they’d been trying so hard to collect by themselves? These creatures apparently believed they could close the deal on this planet without taking into consideration the one they owed the entire opportunity to. 

They would learn to regret that decision. He was certain of it.

There was a satisfactory click as the deceptively slim metal box he’d been attaching finally snapped shut, engaging the connections hidden inside. Straightening, he stood back to check his work, pleased to see that it wasn’t readily visible unless someone already knew it where it was. He was perfectly willing to disable it if he was mistaken, of course. But he was the Master; he was rarely mistaken.

Yes, it was they who’d made the mistake when they considered abandoning their agreements with him. No one ever abandoned agreements with him and did it twice.

Well, nearly no one. 

If only the Doctor weren’t forever interfering, why, he could have drained this pathetic little planet dry ten times over. And why else was there the need for this infernal rush, the lack of time to tend to all the little details that made appropriately deadly theatrics so savoury? The humans wouldn’t be plaguing his every turn like this if it weren’t for his fellow Time Lord’s tipping them off again and again. 

Those soldiers would be looking for him. Again. Most irritating.

He considered the device where it clung barnacle-like to the belly of a protrusion that backed to the shuttle’s fuel chamber and smirked to himself with an improvement on the idea. Why not get a jump on the inevitable and let the Doctor’s pet humans know where he was himself? And more importantly, where his former partners were? The military fools would rush in as they always did, the Doctor no doubt sailing along at their head. Two birds with one stone, or three birds if he counted these _Gingers._ All it would take was one anonymous phone call and he could potentially be rid of the entire lot.

Turning, he paced evenly up a nearby narrow ramp, emerging into the overcast daylight and pungent scents of a muddy pond that hid the shuttle beside the railway station. The entrance was neatly concealed and self-adjusting to be precisely even with the level of the water. To any casual observer it would appear as if he had simply walked up out of the water, bone dry.

Not that there were any observers, or none that he hadn’t already dealt with in his own way. The handful of railway and office workers that had formerly been carrying out their employment at the junction were now bent over other work among the many railway lines that paralleled and intersected with one another all across the way. They carried out his bidding with blank faces and not with the greatest efficiency but certainly with dedication. Picking his way across the rail lines, he double-checked their work as he went, the multiplicity of cable lines neatly attached to the lines of the railway radiated out from the pond like a wide wedge of spider’s webbing. All of it was in place.

“That will do,” he called out with a snap of his fingers. “Go upstairs, be quiet and await me there for further orders.”

“Yes, Master,” they droned.

He continued on to the signal house on the other side of the tracks with the seven men walking behind him. They shuffled past him and up the stairs as he opened the door. 

A dusty black telephone hung on the cheaply paneled wall just inside the door. As he reached for it, it occurred to him that he might even be able to lay the blame for the failed business partnership on the Doctor’s shoulders while he was at it. It meant his _former_ business partners might, in turn, be a little less than gentle with the Doctor, of course. Good scapegoats were so useful; in some ways it would be a shame to lose this one. 

In truth, he thought, all he had to do was assure that the Gingers and the Doctor stayed close to one another, perhaps he could even put him into their custody. That would be useful. They might take as a few of the troublesome UNIT men with them too, if it seemed convenient. 

Greatly pleased with himself for this addition to his newly reformed plans the Master picked up the receiver, wondering as he dialed if UNIT might not already be closing in somewhere near this location. The Doctor had probably traced it for them unless he was off his stride, or he’d have at least narrowed it to the general locale. No, he wouldn’t be surprised if this were the case at all but that was no reason to not make sure of it.

-oo00oo-

He’d barely hung up the phone when the creak of a doorway heralded the arrival of his proposed partners. Turning smoothly towards them as they entered, he started to extend a gloved hand in greeting then let it drop.

Slender, tall and dressed alike in their dark suits and bowler-styled hats the five men may have appeared as regular, if ginger-haired, businessmen from a distance though closer examination of their unnatural quickness, the cold black eyes and expressionless faces said otherwise.

“The cables are set. Now if you gentlemen would be so kind as to carry out your part and engage the power we can bring this stage of our business deal to a close.”

The five turned towards one another briefly and two of them departed out the door, walking to the concealed shuttle. The remaining three turned their dark eyes back towards him.

"I do realize, gentlemen, you've decided you can do without my further services," the Master stated without preamble. "But I think you'll find you're making a grave mistake. I am far more familiar with the ways of this world and its people than you are and, as you well know, would also be an invaluable advisor to whomever purchases it. I can increase its value in ways you have no notion of. Also, I fully expect some of the indigenous resistance to this plan to begin sometime very soon. Perhaps even today.”

The voice that responded was quiet and nearly toneless, but the meaning was clear. “We remove those who resist.”

Not for the first time he wished they had been more adept at adapting the vocal characteristics of their chosen form for their interactions with this planet. It was easier when his adversaries had proper expression in their voices; when emotions were betrayed he could take advantage of them. “Ah,” he smiled thinly and continued in his persuasion. “Of course you will remove them. Efficiently and neatly, I’m sure, and to your eventual detriment. But that is where you show yourselves yet in need of my expert advice.” 

He paused to pull a slender cigar from his pocket and clipped the end. Cut and dried adherence to facts was a weakness, a sign of a mind lacking in creativity. That line of reasoning brought him to his next point. “You see, I also know which of those very approaching would be potentially the leaders of future rebels. I know which may be worth keeping alive as future bargaining chips. There’s one in particular you should give serious thought to picking up. He’s already caused you more than one setback so there’s a debt to repay to you personally as well; the man called the Doctor.”

Usually at this point in a negotiation he could exert a little _extra_ persuasion with his own psychic talents yet their eyes were so black and hard even he found it difficult to maintain any contact for long, something rare for him. He looked down and pretended to smooth a wrinkle from his jacket. “I expect he’ll be with them when they arrive.”

“You betrayed this location.” The voice was more a whisper than a voice. It irritated him to have such a judging declaration made so quietly. He brushed it off and quickly turned the topic away from himself.

“The Doctor was quite capable of figuring it out without any help, though I assure you he’ll be too late to do more than act as an annoyance this time. You’ll remember him from before. The clever one with the lemon-coloured vehicle who directs the Earth soldiers.”

Another whisper, he couldn’t tell for certain which one was even speaking. “What value in trapping it, keeping it alive?”

Lighting the cigar, the Master puffed on it thoughtfully. Ah yes; the Gingers were inclined to collect unusual specimens to sell when they could. Time Lords were certainly unusual, and valuable. 

"Clever renegades are not without their uses,” he said. “There are those even here in Britain that would pay handsomely to redeem him. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if having the Doctor in your hands would _double_ the value of your package deal if you handle it well. Besides, he may not be noted politically, but the Doctor is the only one here with any real ability to defy the new transfer to rulership. Seeing as you'll need to remove him eventually anyway, you may as well start off by using it to your profit. And after your customers take control, you can resell him elsewhere, you’ll find he’s quite unique."

"We know he defeated you in the past." Soft, cold and matter-of-fact. 

"Defeated?" he scoffed. "Never. No, no, merely brought about a slight reworking of my plans. He could never _defeat_ me." He waved the thought away.

There was a pause as the aliens silently conferred with one another. The spokesman turned back to him with that disconcertingly icy black gaze. "Trapping would be difficult."

"Not at all. Terribly simple, really." He looked away, flicking off a bit of ash. "You can use that rather efficient paralysis tool of yours. Bring him close by capturing the girl that’s with him. He will follow. He always does; it’s a weakness he has. And _she_ has a weakness as well."

They conferred among themselves again. “You wish to prove yourself of value.”

The Master lifted his chin. “I don’t need to prove it. I will merely inform you that the emotional circuitry will only engage in conjunction with an additional broadcast code. Only I know and have access to that code. You need me to trigger those circuits. Without me you’ll merely be broadcasting plain images on their screens.” He was bluffing somewhat, but he also knew they didn’t quite understand the concept of the emotional circuit. He did. They knew he did. Like it or not, he was still their resident expert on a system that was being boosted through their own ship to produce a chaos that they would personally benefit from.

“What is the girl’s weakness?”

He smiled at this implied capitulation to his own plans. “Animals,” he said. “Come to think of it, the Doctor tends to run soft on them as well. I would suggest something small and helpless.” 

-oo00oo-

 

The Doctor was bent over a metal box on one of the work tables, Jo watching him nearby. She looked rumpled but at least she looked rested, thought the Brigadier as he came in. He wondered if the Doctor had paused at all during the night to have constructed something as complex-looking as the whatever-it-was and said as much.

“Good morning, Brigadier,” Jo said when the Doctor didn’t respond. “I don’t know if he stopped, I fell asleep on the couch for a while, but he’s wearing that nice burgundy jacket instead of the dark blue, so I guess he stopped sometime.”

“Never mind your fashion reports,” the Doctor said with his head halfway in the moderately sized metal box as he worked on a connection. “Are there any more insulators?”

Jo turned and fished around in a shoebox. “The fat black ones or the long brown ones?”

“Green, if you have it.”

She handed him one and after another long minute had passed the Brigadier cleared his throat. The Doctor looked up from his project.

“Oh, good morning, Brigadier. What brings you here?”

The Brigadier glanced over at the box again and looked faintly surprised. “Is that a blood pressure gauge?” 

“I work with what I can find on short notice.”

“Mm. I guess as long as you put it back afterwards… I just wanted to let you know we’ve had a rather odd phone call. An anonymous man called our HQ to let us know there was some suspicious activity at his locale and he thought it might relate to those dragons that had been appearing.”

“An anonymous informer on something no one outside UNIT really knew we were investigating. I see. Did he happen to give out the locale?”

“No, but the call was easily traced. It came from the office of a railway marshalling yard somewhere over between Gravesend and Higham, Hoo Junction it’s called.”

“That puts it into the same geographical area the spaceship particle trace led to,” the Doctor nodded. “Which also gives me suspicion on the source of the call.”

Benton’s voice spoke from the doorway. “And that Mr. Babcock rang up earlier. Confirmed that the items you’d wanted him to track have been sent to some railway offices, that same place, Hoo Junction.” 

“Why didn’t you say so before?” demanded the Brigadier, swiveling towards him. “Were you standing there just to eavesdrop, Sergeant?”

Sergeant Benton straightened his back. “No sir. Sorry, sir. And it’s been on your desk, sir,” he said.

“Last place I’m likely to find it,” the Brigadier grumbled. 

“Sounds like it’s worth taking a look at least,” Jo nodded. “I mean at this junction, not your desk of course.”

“Captain Yates wanted to know if you had a location for his patrols yet, sir,” Benton said. “They’re ready to go.”

“It appears we do. Very well gentlemen,” the Brigadier said. “And lady. We have an objective. Tell Yates I want him in my office on the double.” He glanced at the clock. “We’ve wasted too much time already finding this place.”

The Brigadier marched out. The Doctor latched the box shut, snatched a graph from the table and followed him. “Jo,” he called over his shoulder as he went, “pack up everything on the far table, it’s apparently getting a field test.”

She sighed, looking at the bulky metal box he had been hastily constructing during the night with its wires and scatter of tools.

“You don’t have to carry that. It can go in my jeep,” Benton offered. He glanced around the lab. “How’s that dragon-thing doing by the way? Is it still here?”

“Oh,” Jo said, “I almost forgot it! Yes, it’s here but it mostly just sits there. The Doctor did something to some water so it could drink it.” She gestured to the corner, where Benton hunkered down to look at the dragon in its makeshift metal kennel. An upended bottle of brownish water was fastened to the side with a rubber end that showed signs of chewing on it. 

“Earth just doesn’t agree with you, does it, old fellow?” he asked conversationally as the grey-brown creature peered suspiciously at him from inside its shelter: a large metal bucket, tipped on its side and half filled with a mix of sand, rocks and the remains of an empty cigar box. It hissed and a tiny flicker of flame waved near its nose. 

Jo was coiling up some of the wires for transport. “I think you’re the only person who likes it. I wish the Master would’ve at least taken it back to its home. I do feel kind of sorry for it.”

“Hey,” Benton said. “I expect we’re likely to run into him if he’s at this train station place. Let’s box it up and bring it with us. Just in case.”

“If we found out where his TARDIS was, we could leave it there for him you mean? It’s pretty unlikely; this is the Master we’re talking about…”

“True. I’ll do it anyway. Worst case, I’ll just bring it back again.” He picked up the metal ammunition box that it has been transported in before. “And don’t worry, I’ll pack that up and still have time to get you a thermos of coffee before we go.”

-oo00oo-


	12. 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's prudent to always consider it may be a trap.

**Chapter 32**

-oo00oo-

The autumn sun was already growing low, slipping beneath the edge of the cloud cover to belatedly toss a half-hearted remnant of light over the grey landscape as their modest cavalcade approached the railway yard. Shadows trailed out in long streamers beside them; thin lines of people and jeeps amid the wider blocks of shadow cast by box-cars and freight containers. Laying as it did among plots of farmland and bits of marsh between Gravesend and Higham, Hoo Junction was pure utilitarian train-yard. Built as a marshalling yard for heavy freight, there were few niceties for human comfort aside from the modest shelter of the two-story signal house. It was easy to see how the relative isolation while still on a rail line made it ideal for anyone wanting to hide something large from passerby. 

The Doctor’s car rolled to a stop, joining the more military vehicles that had already disgorged their occupants . Climbing out, he stood for a moment, arms akimbo as if he were sniffing the wind for something. “He’s here. Or if not, he’s bound to be quite nearby, I’m sure of it.”

Jo sniffed the air. It smelled of oil, metal, mud and cows. She wrinkled her nose and stayed in her seat, wrapping her arms around herself against the cooler gusts of wind. 

“I think we need to move carefully,” the Doctor said as the Brigadier came up to him, followed by Benton.

The Brigadier glanced around. "You’re certainly suspicious,” he observed. “Nothing seems out of place. Are you sure they’re here?”

"I still don't understand some of this: it was far too easy to trace him. The Master can be quite elusive when he wants to be, in spite of his pride."

Benton leaned over the side of the car. "Sounds familiar," he confided in an undertone, making Jo smile. 

"Do you think it could be a trap?" the Brigadier asked.

"If the Master is involved it’s prudent to _always_ consider it may be a trap. What have your men found?"

"No sign of anything unusual around the yards or around the buildings thus far, except for what they say looks like electrical cabling running to some of the tracks. Could be something the railway is doing for some reason, but it doesn’t seem typical. They’re going over the contents of the freight cars as well. There’s no record of any of the locals calling in with recent noise complaints.”

“A train-yard could hardly be considered a quiet neighbor, could it? That shouldn’t come as a surprise,” the Doctor noted drily.

“And neither the operatives we’ve had monitoring the roads nor Yate’s men in the woods have found anything remotely like a spaceship, unless you think it likely it’s been disguised as a broken-down harvester.”

“No,” the Doctor smiled at the thought then tipped his head. “Though a TARDIS can look like anything, it allows them to blend in.”

“Like a police box in a laboratory blends in?” Benton whispered to Jo. She laughed quietly, but the Doctor gave them an annoyed look. 

“Make yourselves useful,” he grumbled. “I’ll need that equipment set up. You can put it over there for now, I’m going to go examine those cables.”

The Brigadier glanced back at them and gave the Sergeant a nod to do as directed then turned and opened his mouth to say more, but the Doctor was already striding off across the lines of track filling the junction. The Brigadier moved closer to the signal house and pulled his hat down a little more snugly, wondering how long this affair was going to take. The wind was rather damp and cold and he was wishing for once they could find some sort of alien incursion that involved tropical resorts or at least decently civilized breaks in the hostilities for tea. He didn’t like this kind, the ones that involved manipulation by things he couldn’t see; his soldiers could hardly take aim at a radio wave, or a phantom dragon, or whatever it was they were dealing with.

“Everyone check those collar clips the Doctor gave them,” he directed over his shoulder while he was thinking of it. “They’re not to be removed until an all clear is officially given.”

“Yes sir,” Benton nodded, his arms full of equipment Jo was now overseeing the unloading of. He turned to pass the word to a man who jogged off to spread it. With signal broadcasting being such an issue, the Doctor had advised they avoid the use of radios lest they inadvertently set something off with the frequency. 

Another man jogged up to the Brigadier. “Sir!”

“Yes, Johnston?”

“You’d said to talk to the workers, but we haven’t found any workers anywhere around the yard yet, sir.”

“Thank you. Report to the Doctor and let him know also, would you?”

“Yes, sir.”

The Brigadier considered this. Strange to have no-one about on a work day. Of course, they could be somewhere fixing a track, or they may have simply all knocked off early and gone home; he had no idea what sort of hours they kept in a place like this. He glanced up at the quiet signal house behind him, which showed no lights or motion. A distant shout distracted him from his thoughts.

“Brigadier!”

It was the Doctor, waving him over. He picked his way across the railway ties to where his advisor was standing over a putty coloured metal box that attached a metal cable to one of the tracks. Now that he was closer he could see a tiny light blinking on one side of it; it definitely didn’t look like anything the railway would install.

“What’s all this about?” he asked.

“These cables are laid out in a network all over this junction,” the Doctor said, pointing. 

“And the boxes?”

“If I’m correct, they would serve to amplify and stabilize a high powered signal coming through them, as well as potentially carrying significant voltage.”

“A signal?” the Brigadier repeated a bit blankly. “What do you mean?”

“I believe the Master intends to use the metal of the railway lines themselves as a booster for his enhanced signal!”

“What? Railway lines?”

“Think of it as a giant broadcasting tower,” the Doctor said. “Metal lines already laid out over all of Britain, and right where the towns are as well. With that overriding booster, it’s likely a good portion of the country’s leadership could be incapacitated at once.”

“But…railways?” the Brigadier repeated.

“Probably a backup plan he came up with after we arranged for monitoring on the use of the satellites. Very clever, really. Anyone in proximity to any of those watch movements could have their emotive impulses completely overwhelmed at that level of amplification. It would be even worse if they were actually on a train at the time. It must be dealt with before it’s engaged or the results could very well be irreparable.” 

“Should we try prying them off, then?” the Brigadier pondered. “We can distribute tools…”

They were interrupted by a scream as a bolt crackled from a neighboring box; the soldier who had been pulling at it collapsed in a heap. They ran over to him, the Doctor kneeling to feel for a pulse. “He’s alive,” he said briefly, “but lucky to be so.”

“You and you, take him back to the truck and report to the medic,” the Brigadier ordered, pointing, then stepped aside as the others ran to lift the unconscious man and carry him off. “I suppose this mean prying them off is out of the question.”

“Not while they’re still active. We’ll need something to cancel it out at the source.” 

“Certainly. We brought enough firepower to deal with just about any size of object. Just let us know when you find the source.”

“What? You brought explosives?” the Doctor turned to the Brigadier with an expression the other already knew well.

The Brigadier smoothly defended the unspoken accusation. “We do try to be prepared.”

“There are other forms of preparation besides always being willing to blow things apart,” the Doctor muttered anyway.

His friend wasn’t bothered at all. He tucked his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels in a satisfied way. “Well, you _did_ just ask for some explosives, didn’t you?”

“No! I said we needed to stop it at the source!”

“Right. And what would that source be, again?”

The Doctor paused to keep himself from saying something impolite. “That would undoubtedly be the spaceship,” he finally said a bit impatiently. “The only thing likely to produce that level of power, unless you’ve found a power station or nuclear plant in one of those freight cars. And no, that _doesn’t_ mean I want you to blow it up.”

“If you say so,” the Brigadier returned mildly. “But then how do you suggest we shut it down when we find it? Things like that seem to rarely come with a handy ‘off’ switch.”

The Doctor grimaced. “Just don’t. Don’t shut it down. Let me know and I’ll take care of that part. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve rather urgent work to do. There’s been no indication that the broadcast signal has gone out. _Yet._ ”

He went back to where the men were setting up the multi-gauged box of his own design as close to the center of the web of cables as they could place it. The override still needed to be patched into the cables and engaged, just in case that signal did get through before they could disconnect the power for it. It concerned him that it hadn’t been broadcast yet, as all of the tools needed to do so were obviously in place. What was the Master waiting for? 

Flipping switches, the Doctor finally powered up his own invention. Tiny lights were brought to life along the front of the machine. The Brigadier looked over at where the gauges on either side had began to flicker up and down with life, reading heaven alone knew what; his jackdaw scientist having purloined them at the last minute from other items at UNIT. One of the nearest appeared to be reading a level of steam, a roll of metal numbers from some type of padlock turned erratically while another circle declared a very unhealthy blood-pressure. 

The Doctor looked pleased as it began to hum and a small desk-clock face began to run round in the wrong direction. He gave special attention to something that looked for all the world like a car’s speedometer.

-oo00oo-

 

Once the box had been unloaded and set up, Jo wasn’t really sure what else to do with herself. She stood near around watching the men out by the tracks for a while, but the breeze was cold and she found herself wondering where that thermos of coffee Benton had promised might be, then wondered if there might even be a coffee pot in the railway office. The two nearest sentries had their attention turned away to talk to another that had come from the nearby woodland.

The door of the signal house was unlocked. She opened it and peeked around the door into the dim interior. 

“Hello? Anyone home?”

 

-oo00oo-

 

“If it reaches…here. I pull _this,_ ” Yates said, carefully repeating back what he was to do with the humming box under his care. “And if _that_ goes above the orange level, I push _this._ ”

“If _that,_ as you so simply call it, even _reaches_ the orange level, you push it,” the Doctor corrected in irritation.

“Right.”

“I’ll help him,” Benton offered. “Between the two of us we’ll get it right.”

“I have it,” Yates protested. 

“Stay with him,” the Brigadier said to Benton, “and don’t leave this, er, box thing unguarded. I think it’s fair to assume it could be a target once the opposition realizes it’s interfering. I’ll go see what we have among our tools that might help us disconnect those little blinky things from a greater distance.”

“Maybe there’s something in that whatnot over there they have for repairing the tracks,” Benton put in helpfully.

“ _Blinky_ things?” muttered the Doctor in annoyance as he double-checked the magnetic field inside of the item in question.

-oo00oo-

 

Jo briefly looked around the clutter of battered furniture and scattered papers in the main room, concluding the junction’s regular staff were likely all bachelors but seeing nothing like a tap or a coffee pot. She was about to check the back room when she heard a whimper.

She stopped. After a moment, it came again; a small, distinctly animal-like whimper, like that of a puppy. She wondered if Benton had brought that little dragon inside to get it out of the wind, or if there was some other small pet that had been left alone. It sounded like it was coming from upstairs.

“Hello?” she called again. There was no answer, but the puppy, or whatever it was, whined again most piteously. Slowly and carefully, she made her way up the narrow wooden steps. The creaking under her feet sounded loud in her ears. Nudging open the door at the top she found it swung easily at her touch. The late afternoon light made its way through a partially curtained window ahead, highlighting a dusty, overstuffed sofa. 

There was a whimper, off somewhere behind the door. She stepped into the room, looked around the edge and startled back with a gasp.

-oo00oo-

 

Leaving the men to their task, the Doctor walked along thoughtfully, following the confluence of cables that led back into the neighboring pond just beyond the tracks. 

“Doctor!” Sergeant Benton was hailing him back by the box. He paused and waited as the man jumped over the various tracks, coming closer so he wouldn’t have to shout. 

“The Brigadier wanted the word passed to you,” Benton panted as he approached. “Two of those ginger blokes were seen over near that signal house. They had those hats on, too.”

“Where did they go?”

“We don’t know, sorry. Slipped away. We’re shorthanded on sentries because it’s taking more of them to go ‘round. Some are still checking around the boundary, and without the radios we can only go so far, of course.”

“Right,” the Doctor said. “Thank you.” He hesitated. It didn’t surprise him that the Gingers were being deliberately scarce for UNIT, seeing as they had reason to stay concealed and could move very quickly. Where they were to be found was also likely to be where the Master was at this point, or they could at least lead the way to him. On the _other_ hand, if they were back there instead of inside the ship that he was now convinced was concealed in that pond, it could be a useful window of opportunity. On the _other_ hand, that might mean the Master was in the signal house and therefore much too close to safely be allowed to continue unobserved. Too many hands. 

Benton lingered nearby. “Anything I should tell the Brig?”

“No,” he decided. “I’ll look into it myself.”

“Right.”

Benton turned back the way he’d come. The Doctor gave the pond a last look and took a different trajectory towards the signal house. It was probably just as well; if the Brigadier realized the spaceship they’d been looking for was sitting right there and possibly unguarded, he’d likely just blow it up.

Benton passed the Doctor’s answer to another man to take to the Brig and went back to where Yates was hunkered beside the metal contraption the Doctor had spliced into one of the cable boxes near the middle of the train-yard. He briefed the Captain and looked at the gauges with an extremely limited understanding of what he was seeing. At least it looked like it was doing _something,_ impressively humming as it was. 

“Jo,” Yates suddenly said. “I mean, Miss Grant.”

“What about her?” asked Benton, looking around. 

“She went into that building. I remember seeing her go in a little bit ago, but I never saw her come out. Have you seen her anywhere?”

“No,” Benton answered with concern. “But at least the Doctor’s going there now. If she’s having any trouble, he’d be the one to set it right.”

“I suppose,” Yates said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “If those ginger devils are around, you think he could deal with them and the Master as well?” He didn’t like remembering how quickly and easily he and Jo had been captured by them before, and that was without an extra renegade Time Lord on the side. He stood, restlessly watching as the Doctor reached the signal house and, after a moment, opened the door on the lower level and went in. 

A couple of moments passed. “Do you think we should get help?” Benton wondered aloud.

“Someone should at least go see what’s happening in there,” Yates said. “You stay here and watch this. I’ll go. I’ll just take a look in the windows, I won’t listen in if he’s talking to someone. He shouldn’t mind that.” Apparently having convinced himself with his own words, he headed off to the signal house at a deliberately unhurried but steady pace.

-oo00oo-

“Good afternoon,” the Doctor greeted easily as he opened the wooden door. Its dusty quarter-paned glass was still clear enough that he’d easily discerned a familiar silhouette inside the dim foyer, just as he’d expected. “I thought I might find you here. Do you mind if I walk into your trap?”

-oo00oo-


	13. 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes things just don't go as you'd like.

**Chapter 33**

-oo00oo-

"This new fancy you have for hats suits you,” the Doctor said after closing the door of the signal house behind him.

“Thank you,” the Master returned, adjusting the brim of his bowler. “I’ve found it a useful fashion lately.”

“A shame you didn’t see fit to share your fashion advice with Jo and I the last time we met.”

“I didn’t think it would be Miss Grant’s style.”

“Of course.”

-oo00oo-

 

Jo stared at the tall man with cold black eyes. Her eyes widened in horror as she realized the animal whimpers were coming _from him._ Moving so quickly she’d barely had time to gasp out a protest much less get away, he’d clamped a hand over her face and dragged her to the side. Somewhere below her she heard what sounded like the Doctor’s voice, greeting someone. 

“ _Mmmf!_ ” she said, struggling. As she was spun around and pinned back against her captor’s chest she was astonished to see seven men in railway clothing sitting in various attitudes along the far wall staring at them. Why didn’t they help? 

-oo00oo-

 

Mike Yates peered briefly into the window of the lower level of the signal house, seeing only the Doctor talking to a man in the shadows of the room. It plainly wasn’t Jo, and he didn’t see her; besides, both the Doctor _and_ the Brigadier would have his hide if he interfered with whatever was going on. He stepped back and considered, biting a lip with indecision. If Jo was all right, she would laugh at him for being so protective and call him silly, but it didn’t lower his worry. Something wasn’t right, he just knew it. Where were the sentries for this house? 

Metal mesh stairs angled up the outside of the house as a basic fire escape. Moving as quietly as he could, he climbed up them to try to get a look into the upper floor. 

-oo00oo-

Downstairs, the Master had pulled a slender box with a short antennae from his pocket and held it up for a moment tauntingly before punching a large orange button on it. “You’re too late, Doctor,” he gloated. “Too late to stop the _chaos_.” He smiled, smug in the knowledge that even as they spoke, televisions across Britain would be broadcasting a fear that many would not be able to overcome. At major centers of population, people would be screaming and running and attacking one another in hysteria as apparitions of dragons appeared around them. 

The Doctor barely managed to keep himself from returning that smile, knowing otherwise.

Out in the train-yard, UNIT men looked over curiously as the humming box the Doctor had set up hummed louder and the gauges jumped. The young man left in charge of it quickly punched a button and pulled a lever, then sighed in relief when nothing blew up in his face as he had half-expected, having been around the Doctor’s inventions before.

Across the nation, thousands of people paused and frowned as their television sets flickered and garbled, others squinted and pulled off their eyeglasses, rubbing them on shirt-corners and handkerchiefs to clear up the strange, brief blurriness that seemed to hang in the air. In business centers men ceased their shouting at one another and set to work. Chiefs of state and leaders paused before continuing stoically in their daily agendas.

Back in the signal house, the Doctor took on a sterner tone. “As you well know, I’ve already designed a protective device against your signals for all of the men here so I hope you’ll excuse their lack of chaos. And I’m surprised at you,” he scolded. “Really, base monetary profit trumping power? You usually want to rule. Greed doesn’t become you, though it seems to suit your partners well enough.”

“And as you well know, it’s always more satisfying with an audience who understands how clever you’ve been,” the Master smiled. “And my profits will be even higher, shortly.” He pulled a triangular paralysis tool the Gingers had given him from his other pocket.

“And that is?” the Doctor prompted cautiously, trying to see what his adversary held with such smugness. It wasn’t a TCE or a firearm at least, that much he could tell.

The Master held up the little triangle smugly. “I thought you might find this interesting. A little toy my associates traded for recently, it really is marvelously efficient. Self-contained power pack too. You see,” he pointed, “one unprotected touch here and the target is rendered temporarily paralyzed. I was especially impressed on how well it works on a wide variety of nervous systems, including human.”

The Doctor’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

The Master’s mouth curved up at the corners in satisfaction. “Miss Grant is a human, isn’t she?”

“Jo?” he demanded. “What have you done with her?” He took a step forward and the Master raised the triangle up. The Doctor stopped.

“Me? Nothing,” the Master said, savouring the moment; he was enjoying having the Doctor being this wary of him, rather than mocking. He was almost sorry when the agreed upon distraction took place.

Somewhere above them, there came a woman’s desperate cry. “ _Doctor! It’s…!_ ” The scream was suddenly cut off.

“Jo!” the Doctor turned toward the staircase. 

-oo00oo-

 

Yates reached the top of the fire escape steps. An old double-hung window stood at the top whose thick wooden frame appeared to have been painted shut over the years. A single sun-faded brown curtain covered over half the expanse, but he still stooped beneath the height of the sill in case it would be better than he be unobserved. He thought he’d heard shouting, but he couldn’t distinguish it over the noise outside. Edging up, he angled until he had a view of the inside. 

Jo Grant was slumped over the arm of a tall man with ginger colouring, who held a small, triangular object in his other hand as if he had just been pointing it at her neck. 

He broke the window.

Black eyes looked up at him as he bashed in the lower pane, violently yanking the curtain down to wad it across the jagged glass edge. 

Mike launched himself into the room. “Leave her alone!” he cried, raising the pistol he’d used to bash in the glass, then hesitated as he realized there were seven other men in the room; men of various ages dressed in the clothing of railway workers, all sitting in a row along the far wall. 

“Help me!” he appealed to them, edging around with his eyes on his cold adversary, who had barely moved except to release Jo’s limp form. She slumped to the floor at the man’s feet. 

“We can take him if you help me,” he tried again. The railway men stared at him with some interest but didn’t move. He had no idea what was happening with them, for all he knew they were chained there. Finding no aid forthcoming from that quarter, he pushed them out of his mind and focused on the hands of the alien he faced. He didn’t know what that triangular thing was, but odds were it was a weapon of some kind and he wanted to keep track of where it was. “Move away from her,” he commanded the Ginger. “Now! Or I’ll shoot.”

There was the sound of someone else on the fire escape behind him. He prayed it wasn’t another alien. The one he was facing moved in that sudden over-quick way he remembered from his other encounters with them and grabbed his wrist, turning it so his gun fell to the floor. He struggled, barely blocking the descending arm of his foe with its triangular tool as it aimed for his neck. 

Glass crunched and fell to the floor as the other person made their way through the window. “Hold on, sir!” came Benton’s voice. A fist suddenly cracked into the side of the Ginger’s jaw and the bowler hat went flying. The alien staggered from the impact and Yates twisted desperately, trying to break the hold on his wrist to free himself.

“Watch out!” Benton said from where he had been about to grab up the fallen pistol from the floor. The odd weapon the Ginger held was again nearing the Captain’s neck, its strong black-clad arm whipping around to pin him back against its chest. Benton jumped, slamming down on the arm that held the weapon and the little triangle skittered off across the floor thoughYates was still pinned back. Hearing its breath above him, he butted upward, trying to ram his head into its chin.

It turned its head to the side, avoiding the blow with unusual flexibility, and tightened its grip on him to crush his ribs in a horrible bear-hug. Yates cried out in pain then fell to his knees on the glass-scattered floor as he was suddenly released.

“Go check Miss Grant,” Benton panted from where he now was facing off against their silent foe. “I’ll try to keep him busy for a minute.”

Yates wheezed a breath and crawled over to Jo, gathering his fallen gun along the way and holding his side. She lay unresponsive but at least she was breathing. “She’s alive,” he managed. 

Benton tried a feint, circling in an attempt to back the Ginger into the corner. The impassive creature showed no anger or fear. It simply reached down and picked up a large shard of glass from the broken window. 

-oo00oo-

 

Down below, the Master was signaling for his alien cohorts. From upstairs came the sound of feet creaking on the wooden flooring and then breaking glass. “Forget the girl, your real quarry is here,” he called. The Doctor lay in a heap of burgundy velvet at the bottom of the steps. The Master nudged him with a toe and laughed softly in satisfaction. “Oh, Doctor. Tsk tsk. And yes, I know you can hear me. Don’t worry, the paralysis will wear off soon. As soon as you are safely stashed away with your _new_ masters.”

He sensed rather than heard a presence behind him and turned, smooth and smiling, to find one of them already there. “You see?” he said. “He’s yours for the taking. You’ll find our kind have _considerable_ value on the intergalactic market.”

The man’s arm moved. The paralysis tool was nipped from his hand and before the Master could even react it had been reversed and turned back on himself. A shock went through him and he was falling to the floor, his bowler hat rolling off to be crushed beneath his assailant’s foot. Seething with the betrayal, he tried to resist but his body would not respond.

“ _Valuable,_ ” he heard the Ginger whisper.

-oo00oo-

 

Benton, who had no desire to let that shard of glass get any closer, gave a kick at the man, trying to knock it from his hand but the alien whipped the broken glass at the Sergeant in a blur, as a snake striking; Benton gave a surprised sound of pain, falling back with a long gash trailing the side of his thigh.

Yates pulled himself back up to his knees, painfully gasping for breath, and leveled his pistol at it in spite of it meaning he would have to shoot it in the back. “Stop!” he yelled in a final warning. 

A man’s voice called something downstairs. 

The Ginger suddenly dropped the glass shard and turned, rapidly striding out the door and closing it behind him with a _click._ They could faintly hear him descending the stairs briefly. The man’s voice went quiet.

“What?” Benton sat heavily down on the floor, gasping and wiping at his forehead. “Where y’think he’s gone to?” He pulled off his jacket and started working to wrap it around his own leg, which was now bleeding badly. 

“I don’t know,” Yates responded where he’d leaned back against the wall, shaking, gasping and prodding at his sides to be sure his ribs hadn’t been broken. “But I sure hope he hasn’t gone to get more of them.” 

“What’s with them?” Benton asked, indicating the line of silent men along the wall with a tip of his head. He wrapped the sleeves of his jacket firmly around his leg and knotted them together. “The Master’s been doing his mind thing with ‘em?”

“Probably right,” Yates said. He staggered over and briefly tried the door, finding it wouldn’t budge. “Locked. Just as well,” he said. “Help me shove that sofa over here.” They could at least delay them if their adversaries decided to come back, he thought, putting his shoulder to the large piece of furniture. No reason to make it easy on them. “Help me!” he repeated insistently.

Benton limped over to him, blood soaking his pant leg. The men sitting along the wall merely stared. Yates snapped at them, “Come on, you hypnotized imbeciles! The Master wants you to help me.”

The men seemed to perk up and briefly consider this before discarding it. One of them lifted a finger to his lips. “ _Shhh._ The Master said to be quiet. The Master said to wait,” he muttered, and the other echoed his words in a confusion of stage-whispers. “Be quiet…. quiet… wait.” None of them moved from the wall.

“Figures.” Benton gamely tried to put a shoulder to the couch, trying to push off with his good leg. It squealed across the floor, finally thumping into place across the doorway. Yates looked over at his comrade who was pale and looked likely to faint. 

“Sorry, sir,” he gasped. “I don’t think I can do much more.”

Yates leaned back against the sofa, belatedly realizing his hands were bleeding from glass cuts. “Do you smell smoke?”

-oo00oo-


	14. 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something gets loose. Fire? Fire what?

**Chapter 34**

-oo00oo-

The sun dipped low behind the trees, dropping the junction into shadow punctuated with thin, fading pencils of light. The grey colours of the gravel and long rail-lines complemented the grey sedan that rolled to a stop alongside the military vehicles in the parking area at Hoo Junction. 

Clutching the steering wheel, his shoulders hunched up as if to conceal his face, sat Mr. John Babcock, government aide and nominal operative for the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce. At least he hoped he would still be allowed that modest UNIT title in spite of his presence here. His inquisitive side had rationalized his decision to come based on his own involvement in tracking the shipments here, plus his being at least modestly instrumental in freeing the Doctor and his assistant earlier. He’d even seen that dragon. It would be logical that he should see the task through to completion, wouldn’t it?

The more rational part of his mind more grudgingly admitted it was his own overwhelming curiosity that had brought him so far afield and he wasn’t likely be welcomed with open arms. These two warring sides of his mind pushed and pulled at him, causing him to open the door, close it part way, open it again and get out of the sedan but then quail at the possibility of actually being seen by one of UNIT’s men. This perhaps explained why, when a sentry came out of the woods and went to speak with another man out towards the tracks, Babcock went from sauntering along as if he belonged there to diving into the nearest jeep and ducking down below the level of the seats. 

He startled as a metal box next to him in the seat made a “ _snaaarrk,_ ” sound and something inside it wheezed. Examining it closer in the waning light, he realized it was that strange dragon creature again. Why had they brought it _here_? He waited tensely, hearing footsteps crunch past on the gravel somewhere on the opposite side of the car and tried to think of what would make a good cover story for why he was hiding in a jeep should he be found. 

“ _I found this rare creature loose, sir, and recaptured it for you!_ ” he imagined himself saying with just the right balance of reluctant bravery and gentlemanly humility. 

“ _Well done, Babcock! Good man. Don’t know what we would have done without you. Good luck that you came by when you did or it might have been lost forever,_ ” he imagined the Brigadier telling him. He would be modest about it, of course, and refuse the Brigadier’s offer of a generous bonus, only doing his duty, though would finally allow the promotion to the espionage division when it was pressed upon him - for the good of his country, of course.

A round bit of dragon snout pressed up against a hole in the box, then a slightly protruding eye appeared and regarded him. “I suppose I’ll have to let you out for a moment so I can truthfully say I recaptured you,” he told the eye, remembering it hadn’t been a very large animal. “But you can’t leave the car, all right?” He reached up and opened the latch. The hinged lid swung open and the creature inside sat and regarded him for a beat, then clambered out. He involuntarily recoiled from the rubbery feel of it as it slithered past his arm, thumping down to the floor of the jeep. 

He scrunched up his legs, regretting his decision already and started wheedling at it to come back into the box, but a movement on the periphery of his vision caught his attention. He glanced over and suddenly froze. One of those ginger-haired con-men! He was sure it was. And there was another!

The first one was bent over the far corner of the nearest building, a two-story house or office of some kind. The figure made a few quick movements and then straightened, coming around the building to join another one. The two dark-clad men, their ginger hair just showing beneath their matching bowler hats were carrying a large box between them. Smoke began to rise from the corner of the house where the man had been, quickly followed by a distinct blackening of the siding and a flicker of flame. Babcock’s eyes widened. They’d set fire to the house! He looked back at where they should have been with their big box but they were gone. 

He scanned all around in alarm. This was plainly arson! Didn’t anyone else see what was going on? The smoke trailed up into the early twilight and a bit of flame danced along the wall of the building, bright in the shadow. There was a movement up in one of the windows. There was somebody up there! Without further delay, he opened the jeep door and tumbled out of it, looking for someone, anyone he could warn.

“Fire!” he cried in a tremulous, rising voice. “Brigadier! Fire!”

Behind him, forgotten for the moment, a small grey-brown creature nudged the swinging jeep door open and jumped down to the graveled yard. It looked at the fire licking its way along the siding and hissed a little tongue of flame in reply.

“Fire what?” the Brigadier said, his eyes snapping up from where he’d been examining a new attempt at removing one of the cable-connecting boxes. It was getting on toward dark and he was wishing he’d brought a torch. Frowning, he regarded the man panting towards him waving his arms. “Mr. Babcock? What the devil are you doing here?” He tried to remember if he’d given any orders that could have been misconstrued to bring him out this way. 

“Fire!” Babcock repeated, his voice cracking in a squeak. He pointed back towards the signal house. “Those con-men, they set it on fire!”

“Con-men? You mean those Gingers? What did they set on fire?”

“ _The house!_ ” Babcock gasped in desperation. “ _That house is on fire!_ And I think there’s someone in there!”

“Where’s the Doctor?” snapped the Brigadier to the men nearest him. “You, go find him. Bradley, radio for firefighting equipment. Yes, I know we’re not supposed to be on the radios, this is an emergency. Go! Baker, go notify the patrols in the woods, we need them here on the double. The rest of you, with me. I don’t know who’s in there but we’ve got to get them out!” 

All over the rapidly darkening marshalling yard men abandoned their various duties as the message spread, shouting to one another and running to help with the fire. In the confusion, no-one noticed a dark pair of figures carrying a large box between them as they slipped from one set of train-cars to another, heading for the distant pond. No-one but one small Polluxian dragon, whose eyes were poor but whose sense of smell was still keen. It had been several hours now since it had finished off the last of the cigars back in the lab. The box the tall men carried had the faint aroma of tobacco about it, irresistible and tempting. Slavering, the dragon crawled over the train rails to follow it.

-oo00oo-

Smoke was curling around the ceiling of the room and Yates was getting desperate. He tried getting Benton to go out the window, but the man had blacked out and ended up down on the glass-strewn floor. His own ribs and arm hurt so badly when he next tried to lift Jo that he nearly blacked out himself. He cursed the men along the wall, who refused to leave their place or help him.

“This place is on fire!” he snapped at them. “You’re going to die if you don’t get out that window!”

“ _Shhh._ The Master said to wait.”

He yanked the cushions from the couch and started trying to heap the limp Jo onto them in hopes of sliding her across the room that way when there was a blessedly welcome thumping and shouting at the window heralding the arrival of his fellow soldiers. 

“Here’s Miss Grant!” the first man yelled down towards the ground. “And Captain Yates and the Sergeant!” He turned back to the people in the smoke-hazed room. “Where’s the Doctor? Isn’t he with you?”

“No,” Yates said, “he was downstairs last I saw. Help me, Benton’s injured.”

The men rapidly wadded up the torn, glass-filled curtain from the window frame and swept away the last of the shards, throwing a fat army-issue blanket over the edge instead. They looked in surprise at the men sitting obediently along the wall, one of whom was now laying limp from having picked up the discarded paralysis tool in curiosity and touching the wrong end. “Well come on!” they exhorted. “Come on, get out! This way!”

Yates shook his head from where he knelt by the couch. “They won’t come,” he said. “The Master’s got to them and told them they have to wait here.” Aching, he gratefully watched as his fellows took ahold of the woozily apologizing Benton, and turned to help with Jo who seemed to finally be coming around.

Down below, the Brigadier coughed, his eyes watering as the breeze shifted a roil of black smoke towards him. He was glad to locate his missing men, but was starting to be concerned about his scientist’s continued absence. He briefly joined his men in directing the spray from a garden hose while exhorting others who’d grabbed shovels and were rapidly clearing brush away from the back of the house to keep it from spreading as sparks and bits of ash whirled past. Two of his men with their faces covered in damp cloth burst back out of the lower door where they’d gone in for a brief search before the fire became too intense. 

They shook their heads, coughing and squinting from the smoke. They’d found no one downstairs. He nodded in acknowledgment as a shout above caught his attention.

“Sir!” the men up the stairs were hailing him, yelling over the growing sound of the fire. “What do we do with these other blokes? They won’t come out!” 

“What blokes? Why not?” the Brigadier snapped. “Are they hurt?”

“No, they say the Master told them to wait for him there!”

“Pick them up and carry them if you have to!” he shouted back. “I don’t care how you do it, just get them out of there!” He turned, muttering an imprecation about civilians to the men beside him. “Blake! See if you can find any pumping equipment anywhere, we may be able to pump water from that pond.”

He looked back up and cupped his hands to be heard again. “Any sign of the Doctor?” 

“No!” they called back down.

He repeated his imprecation, this time about wayward Time Lords.

-oo00oo-


	15. 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rather unusual contents of a certain box.

**Chapter 35**

-oo00oo-

The dragon weakly snuffled back and forth, hesitating over the wet mud surrounding the concealed entrance of the alien ship. Finally driven forward by hunger, it climbed over the edge and down the sloping passage where it slipped into an angular crevice near the floor. Watching warily as the dark-clad figures placed the temptingly scented box in the ship’s back compartment, it waited until they’d turned away, barely making it through the closing metal door that automatically lowered into place a moment later. 

There was a clunk as the door seal was seated and the dragon sniffed around the small, dim room, ill at ease. It had been locked up far too often of late.

Still, there was food to be found. Its nose prodded the large, dark box studded with small air holes that exuded that tempting scent, scrabbling at it ineffectively. The floor and walls of the compartment began to vibrate and it extended its neck alertly, spitting a dribble of flame, before turning its attention back to the box as a shuffling noise came from inside.

Inside the box, the Doctor experimentally moved his limbs. He’d been extremely concerned when the paralysis that was affecting him took so very long to wear off. The bumping and tipping of the close quarters he’d been confined to had been uncomfortable enough but was made far worse by not being able to even brace himself against the movements as it was carried. He was incredibly glad to find he could finally pull his face out of the corner of the box where it had been awkwardly pressed when his captors unceremoniously dropped the Master in after him.

His hands were tingling, but coming back to usefulness well enough. His head ached where he’d hit the bottom step when he fell but he seemed otherwise whole. Behind him the Master was still a limp weight. Untangling from his unhappy box-mate so they were back to back, the Doctor carefully raised himself up on an elbow, trying to see out of one of the small air holes that dotted the box. The room their container had been placed in was, as he had already concluded, inside the storage compartment on the alien shuttle. Thankfully, it seemed to be the only one so at least Jo wasn’t also boxed up. Equally thankfully, there didn’t seem to be anyone watching it; they must all be needed for their preparations, as the vibrations of the floor also told him the engines were starting to warm up for lift-off. 

He grimaced at the thought of it. UNIT would not be able to help him once he was away from Earth and he knew his fellow Time Lord couldn’t be trusted. It could go badly indeed. Feeling along the sides and top he looked for any kind of seam he could work at and wished he had a good old-fashioned coat hanger in his pocket so he could reach the latch. 

Something small scratched along the outside of the box near his knees. He angled around but still couldn’t see what it was.

“The engines,” the Master’s voice came, slightly slurred from the lingering paralysis. He slowly raised a hand to prod the box for a seam as well. 

“Yes.” The Doctor bit back a wide variety of other comments that came crowding into his mind. He could have gone on at great length about the downsides of the situation and the Master’s blame in all of it, but it would hardly be helpful – and it was already obvious that the abhorrence at being stuffed into a box together was mutual. “There’s something alive out there,” he said instead. 

“Probably one of their samples got out,” the Master said glumly, now poking at the air holes. “They’ve apparently a business on the side selling stock to exotic zoos.”

“I see.” The Doctor said. “And you were intending for me to be in one? I’m flattered.” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from creeping into his voice. “It was so kind of you to come along for the ride as well.”

The Master was silent.

“Ah,” the Doctor said. “Of course, that wasn’t part of the plan, was it?”

“We always were told an alien is never to be trusted,” he said, and in spite of himself joined the Doctor in a brief chuckle at the stodgy old Gallifreyan adage they’d been fed in both in rhyme and in rule. 

“But what were you thinking even going into negotiations with the _Gingers?_ ” the Doctor complained. “They might not sell their own grandmothers, but they’d certainly sell anyone else’s. I can’t believe I told the Brigadier you were too intelligent to take up with Cybermen, then you go and do this.” 

“Ah. You admitted to my greater intelligence to your friends? Now _I’m_ flattered.”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much. Especially in light of the fact you’re now locked in a box and _they_ are out there.”

“It’s so hard to find good help these days,” the Master sighed melodramatically. He paused as the scratching was heard again along the side of their containment. 

“Does that mean you don’t have anything with you that might be useful?”

“In my TARDIS.”

“And mine is back in my lab. We’re both off our stride there. Usually at least one of us has a bit of wire or a magnet.”

“Or a subcompact portable plasma cutter.”

“Now that would be nice, though I don’t think it would quite fit in your pocket.”

“Everyone always underestimates me.”

The Doctor smiled at that. “But not your potential market value, apparently. Your mistake, of course, was they simply didn’t need you anymore,” he said. “Once you sent that signal you weren’t of any further use to their plans.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I suppose they’re intending to fly to some other location where they will employ some means of impressing the panicked populace of their munificence.”

“A role you had intended for yourself, I take it. Until they decided you were better off joining me in an exotic zoo.”

The Master didn’t reply for a moment, then shrugged it away. “In light of the results, I suppose I shouldn’t have convinced them of your value quite so thoroughly. Though Time Lords _are_ valuable.

“You must admit that wasn’t terribly inspired, that one.”

“Apparently not.”

“Not when you _are_ one. You always were an overenthusiastic salesman.”

“And now they’re thinking they’ll reap all the profit of my work…”

“They won’t have anything to reap.”

“Why? Are you planning to do something about it?” the Master asked sardonically. “It’s already done. The signal’s been sent and, if I may remind you, you’re inside a box.”

“It never happened, old chap. I’d already placed a signal translation on it. I reversed it.”

The Master paused, his hand clenching on the air holes above him. “Reversed it? What do you mean?” he asked with a sinking feeling.

“Jo and I discovered it when we were driving Bessie, my car. A frequency that reversed the effect on the emotive circuit to dampen the emotions rather than stir them up. Once it was set to the appropriate level with Bessie’s acceleration, I could take that to the lab and recreate it. I also scrambled the images. In effect all you did was give the stoic British people a boost on their good stiff upper lip and interrupt a bit of entertainment on the telly with snow, for a short while anyway.”

The Master ground his teeth and made a muttering sound.

“What was that?” the Doctor grinned. “As you said, it’s always more satisfying when you have an audience that understands how clever you’ve been.”

There was the scrabbling along the side of the box again, this time on the Master’s side. A snort and a frustrated, weak “ _fnaaaarghff_ ” could be heard. They both recognized that sound.

“Do you have any cigars with you?” demanded the Doctor.

“Yes,” the Master said unhappily, his thoughts still on the signal failure. “But no way to light them. Why, may I ask? I know you have an affinity for Earth customs but I doubt you’re asking for a last smoke before you die.”

“That creature isn’t interested in us, it’s smelling the tobacco. These boxes open very easily from the outside. If we can get it to climb on top of the box, we may be able to get it to slip the latch.”

“You seem rather familiar with these boxes.” The Master awkwardly twisted around, trying to get at his pocket. He fished out two cigars, somewhat mashed and bent, and with the help of his teeth, unwrapped them. He twisted again to hand one back across his shoulder where the Doctor could reach it. 

“Let’s start lower and work up,” the Doctor said, poking the tip of the cigar out one of the lower air holes and popping it up and down. “I’ve seen them once before,” he continued conversationally. “They tried to collect Jo for one of their specimens. The top opens and it’s just a simple toggle there near the center… I don’t hear it over here, did it go around to your side?’

There was a scratching noise. “I think so.” The Master waggled his own cigar through the air hole in what he hoped would be an enticing manner and was rewarded with something bumping the box just a little below the level of his hand. He moved the cigar up a notch. The bump repeated, higher. 

He moved it up nearer to the top and poked it out the hole. There was a snarl, a scramble and a yank as the creature’s teeth abruptly reached the bait. He barely managed to pull the cigar back in as it scrabbled back downward, chewing noisily on the piece it had bitten off. His cigar was half its former length.

“What happened?” the Doctor asked, irritated at all the movement happening behind him that he couldn’t see.

“I merely allowed it a sample,” the Master said defensively.

“Well, don’t do it again. If you feed it now it’ll never get up on the top,” complained the Doctor. 

“Are you saying you could do it better?” the Master growled.

The Doctor didn’t reply, but he did suddenly twist around so he could get his own cigar out one of the holes on the Master’s side.

“Keep on your own side,” the Master complained as he was squashed against the hard surface of the box. 

“Not if you’re going to be doing it wrong. This is our only chance.”

“I wasn’t doing it wrong!” snapped the Master, kicking at the Doctor where the other Time Lord’s boots were now painfully pushing into his legs. 

“Ow,” the Doctor complained back. “Stop it, he’s nearly there!”

“What’s nearly there?” the Master growled, pushing back as he was squashed even further into the corner. He grunted and struggled as the Doctor’s weight shoved into him hard enough to mash his nose into the bottom of the box. 

“Shhhh!” the Doctor said earnestly. “Hold still!”

“Gnrroff,” the Master complained angrily. “Mmnzz!” But he held still, realizing even as the Doctor had, that the sounds of the little dragon were now on top of the box. 

“Come on, come on,” wheedled the Doctor softly. He moved the cigar from one side of the area the latch was in to the other, having to lean heavily on one arm to stay up. The Master, whose shoulders that one arm was firmly across muttered unintelligibly into the bottom and finally managed to turn his head. 

“Doctor,” he warned softly, “I am very, very near the end of my patience.”

“Don’t move!” the Doctor whispered. “He’s at the toggle! Come along…come along,” he said and hummed a little soothing tune, moving the cigar back and forth. There was a scrabbling noise and a sliding of metal on metal. 

The surprised dragon squawked and slid off onto the floor as the thick flaps popped upward, though it was mollified by the Doctor promptly dropping the coveted cigar right in front of its nose. “There!” he was saying in satisfaction, climbing upright with a bright smile. “You see?”

The Master, climbing out after him and rubbing at his nose did not seem so cheerful, but he was definitely relieved to be out. 

The Doctor gave the room a quick examination. “They’ve already sealed the doors. I doubt we could overpower them even if we could get this one open.”

“There’s no time,” the Master said, still a bit surly. “We’ll have to go out the service access.” He went across the small compartment to the panel in the flooring, working to get it open. The Doctor was quickly beside him, prying at the other end of it. Between the two of them, they lifted the metal panel and slid it aside as quietly as they could. It helped that the growing hum of the engines masked their efforts. 

The Doctor glanced back at the dragon where it was messily chewing on the cigars, then reluctantly left it where it was. He could see from the colouring that its health was already much worse than it had been in the lab. It was likely to die soon, he was glad it at least had a decent last meal. 

The Master elbowed him aside, perhaps a bit more sharply than necessary, while the Doctor was hesitating, and climbed into the opening himself, grunting as he lowered himself down into the narrow metal passage that was normally only used for maintenance operations. It was obvious that the Gingers were a species that was generally both taller and narrower than they were. The Doctor followed, grimacing as his jacket caught on various bolts and edges. 

“If I need a new jacket, I’m blaming you and your rubbish megalomaniac plans,” he grumbled. 

“I refuse to be baited,” the Master grumbled back.

The Doctor bit back a litany of all the myriad ways the Master had indeed allowed himself to be baited over the years and turned his attention to the only hope they had of getting away from one another. “It’s going to open underwater,” he said in a more carefully neutral voice as they edged along and reached the recessed narrow rectangle on the floor that was their goal. “Even with two of us pushing, the pressure…”

“I’m well aware of that,” the Master snapped. “Any suggestions?”

“Can you reach that pipe over there?”

“Why?”

“It would relieve the pressure, though it would also fill this compartment with water so the door better open right after…”

The Master was already stretching, reaching his arm up a slot on the other side where the pipe in question could be seen. The Doctor was right; it was a pressurization pipe waiting for release when the ship lifted off. He didn’t like it when the Doctor was right. Gritting his teeth, he wrenched the connection with all the force of his frustration, yanking it back and forth to loosen it. It finally bent.

Cold grey-brown water violently sprayed from the opening in the pipe connector, splashing them both its foul smell and slopping wildly back and forth along the narrow floor. The small chamber was quickly ankle-deep, then knee-deep. They both bent to struggle with the hatch, pushing for all they were worth. It was rapidly getting deeper and the door still didn’t move.

-oo00oo-


	16. 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And in conclusion...

**Chapter 36**

-oo00oo-

“I wish I knew where the Doctor was,” Jo fretted. “He’s probably gotten himself into some kind of trouble. All those hypnotized men, well you know that means the Master’s around here someplace, that’s for certain, and that can’t be good. You know what I mean. I know he can take care of himself, like the Captain said, but I can’t help but worry. Do you think we should go looking for him? Oh, sorry, I mean, do you think I should go looking for him?”

Twilight was fading into night and the yard look eerie in the erratic glow of the burning building. The smell of smoke was thick in the air and Jo sat by Sergeant Benton where he lay at the back of one of the trucks on a stretcher with a woolen blanket tucked over him. “I’m sure the Brig’s got people watching for him,” he comforted. “Sorry I can’t be of more help.” 

Jo looked down at his pale face and patted the blanket. Ever since they’d been brought to the truck, Benton had seemed far more embarrassed that he’d had to be handed down the steps half insensible than he was bothered by the gash on his leg, which a young medic had neatly cleaned and swathed before firmly instructing him to stay laying down until they could get back to HQ. 

“Oh stop apologizing,” she told him. “Look at me, I was silly enough to walk right into one of their traps and ended up endangering all of you. And now I’ve let the Doctor wander off without me. If anyone should be saying they’re sorry, it’s me!”

“Sorry, Miss,” Benton said apologetically. 

“Captain?” Jo called into the gloom as someone came near the truck. 

“Er, no. It’s just me,” a brown-haired man in an ash smeared business suit came nearer and looked into the back. “John Babcock, if you remember me.”

“Mr. Babcock. Of course I remember you,” Jo said with a reassuring smile. “Is there something we can help you with?”

“Well, I heard you’re still looking for Doctor Smith.”

“Have you seen him?” Jo asked excitedly. “Where?”

“I don’t rightly know if I saw him or not, but when everyone was busy with the house being on fire and all that I did see a couple of those troublesome men, the ones with the hats, carrying something out that way,” he pointed. “I mean, it might be nothing, but now that I’ve had time to think about it, it was big enough to hold a person…so I thought maybe I ought to mention it. Especially since they didn’t find him anywhere in the house.”

“Out that way?” Jo echoed, looking out across the yard. There was nothing out there but scattered boxcars and beyond it a bit of woods with a pond. 

Somewhere ‘out that way’ a strange humming sound began to rise. She started to climb down from the truck. 

-oo00oo-

The Brigadier turned from directing men who had just discovered some pumping equipment to find a blank-faced man with a railway logo on his jumper going past , walking straight for the burning building. The Brigadier grabbed the man’s arm and turned him, pushing him back towards Yates who was coming up behind more slowly. 

“Captain, can’t you keep those men contained?”

Yates, who had been assigned to watch over the seven men as something that didn’t take much physical exertion, pointed toward the runaway man with a significant nod. Another soldier who had been following promptly hustled the railway worker back toward the fenced supply yard they’d turned into an impromptu corral for their wayward hypnosis victims. 

“Sorry, sir. I think we’re going to have to cuff them, they won’t stop going back to that building. What are we going to do about them being hypnotized this way?” he said in frustration. “They’re completely uncooperative. The Doctor knows how to fix it; nothing we’re trying is working at all.”

The Brigadier frowned as a strange vibrating hum began to rise from somewhere out on north side of the tracks. “I thought your men searched those woods,” he said.

“We did!” Yates returned. 

“Well, _something_ is out there now.” There were loud pops. Sparkling across the junction crackling bolts of electricity flashed as the numerous connection boxes begin to violently pop apart with a noise like gunshots. The cables they were still attached to crackled with additional power being surged into them the source beneath the water.

-oo00oo-

“Miss Grant! You’re supposed to stay here!” Benton called after her as she jumped to the ground. “It could be dangerous! Babcock, stop her!” he added in frustration at his own immobility. “That’s an _order!_ ” 

“Uh…yes, sir!” the hapless aide said as the young woman ran off past him into the darkness, toward the hum. He stopped her in the only way he knew how to stop a running person, diving at her in a good rugby tackle he’d learned back in school. The two of them tumbled painfully into the gravel. 

“Let me go!” Jo said angrily. She tried to rise and the man pushed her back down as loud bangs and pops were heard beyond them. They both looked over to see the cable boxes exploding in sizzling, shrieking bursts of light. 

-oo00oo-

 

The Brigadier snatched at the elbow of a man running past. “Smithers! Any sign of the Doctor yet?” 

“I don’t think so,” the Lieutenant he had addressed gasped, wiping sweat and ash from his forehead. “But we blocked the civilian fire trucks, like you ordered. Our own backup should be here in the next five minutes or less.”

“Good. Pass the word that I’m to know the minute he shows up. The minute, do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir!”

“He better have a damn good reason to be gone at a time like this,” the Brigadier muttered as the mesh fire escape shrieked, falling away from the burning building behind him. Men shouted and the railway began to bang and spark with small exploding boxes. “Or he’s going to be in very deep water.”

-oo00oo-

 

Chilled, blackened water gushed forcefully through the hatchway as the Doctor and Master worked to slide it aside enough for them to get through. “You first,” the Doctor said gallantly as they were both already soaked to the chest. The level rose quickly in such a confined space and the pipe was still shooting its contents into the air. “Straight and then to the right.”

“I know,” the Master growled, took a deep breath and plunged down into the rising flood, vanishing instantly. The Doctor followed. 

Blindly feeling his way along the body of the ship and threading his way past submerged branches, he finally found the edge and surfaced with a grateful gasp. The Master was just a little to one side of him, already kicking out towards the bank. Again, he followed, swimming after as best he could through the muck.

“We need distance,” the Master panted. “It will explode when it lifts off.”

“What?” the Doctor said in consternation. “Explode? Why?” 

“A little failsafe of my own,” the Master said as he went. “When it reaches full capacity. Thanks to their lack of honour on our deal, I failed to inform them of it.”

“They have no idea of their danger?” the Doctor asked in horror, pausing in his strokes.

“Why should I tell them?” the Master answered. 

The Doctor started to turn back, obviously thinking there could still be some way to warn the Gingers. The Master knew it and reached back to unceremoniously dunk him. 

“Now it’s too late,” he told him flatly, allowing him to come back up for air.

“You’re heartless,” the Doctor spluttered, water streaming from his hair.

“No, practical,” the Master corrected, yanking his fellow Time Lord along through the smelly brown pond towards the shallows. “Hurry. Just one more increase on the…” A water-sodden black stick whipped up as he stumbled over it and smacked him high on the chest, leaving his sentence unfinished as he spit bits of mud and bark.

“And it explodes, I know,” the Doctor gasped beside him as they waded and staggered through the soft mud of the boggy edge and began pulling themselves up the side by means of grass clumps. “You’re as bad as the Brigadier.”

They spared no more breath for talk, but bent all their energy for reaching the nearest shelter: a short line of freight cars parked along the rails. Thinking alike, they both grabbed at the metal ladder that extended down the side and collided with one another, then swung to either side of it and pulled themselves up. On the opposite side, the dark water began to fall away from shining metal as the shuttle lifted up from its hiding place. The muddy bottom of the pond churned and gurgled like a live thing as the hum of the engines throttled to a shriek.

_WHOOMPH!_

The water of the lake shot upward in a brown geyser and the boxcar rocked and trembled. Gravel, water and mud splatted below them as the force rocketed chunks of metal and bits of debris along the ground, ricocheting off the underside of the boxcar’s carriage and rattling among the tracks.

There was a pause. The boxcar creaked, water could be heard slopping wildly in the remains of the lake and there was the roaring sound of something large on fire somewhere nearby. They ducked as a chunk of ragged metal bounced off of the top of their boxcar with a bang. A distant crackling heralded bits of hot space craft burning among the trees around the lake. The two of them looked at one another. After another pause to be sure there weren’t any more errant missiles, both climbed down and peered back around the edge at the damage. The railyard was thickly filled with smoke, ashes whirled through the air and somewhere nearby a wailing siren was approaching.

The Doctor shook his wet hair back and leaned against the boxcar, examining the wreckage around the pond. “Still, they were living beings,” he said after a moment, continuing the former argument only to turn his head and find the Master wasn’t there. He glanced around, locating him a few yards away already climbing into a tall railway signal post which then faded out with a familiar grinding sound.

Across the way he could now see the signal house was heartily ablaze, black smoke billowing up into the darkening sky, the glow making silhouettes of the soldiers scattered here and there, shouting at one another and gaping at where the ship had formerly been. He sighed, wiped the water out of his eyes and trudged back across the tracks.

-oo00oo-

 

Jo sat up from where she and Babcock had instinctively dropped low and covered their heads when the ship exploded. Stray bits of mud and debris spattered down and a cloud of vapour roiled up from the water beyond the tracks. The echo of the blast reverberated among the boxcars.

“ _Doctor!_ ” Jo cried in horror. “Oh no!” 

Babcock followed her gaze grimly. “If he was there he’s gone now, that’s for sure. I’m sorry…”

She looked back at him with wide eyes filling with tears and shook her head vehemently in denial. “He can’t be dead. He can’t be! You must have been wrong!” 

“I hope I was,” Babcock said unhappily. “But I’m usually right about tracking where things go. And nothing could’ve survived that.” 

“But the _Doctor…!_ ”

He brushed gravel out of his hair, still trying to process what had just happened. “I know. I mean, I know he got through all right back when that building went up and all that, but he had that car of his with him then. He’s not coming back this time. There’s no way. I’m so sorry.”

Jo started to get up, then just sat back on the gravel, pulling her knees up to her chest and hiding her face in them. “We need to let the Brigadier know,” she said after a moment. At the sound of her voice, Babcock awkwardly reached out to pat her shoulders in consolation. He wasn’t sure if telling that very stern and intimidating Brigadier that his favourite scientist had just been blown sky-high was news he really wanted to be the bearer of. Ash from the burning signal house filled the air and the gravel was cold and sharp, but neither of them moved.

They were still sitting there together when a tall man covered in mud and dripping pond water came walking out of the smoky darkness and wearily hunkered down beside them.

“Hello, Jo,” he said. 

-oo00oo-

. . . EPILOGUE 

Three days later John Babcock found himself walking down the steps toward the car park of UNIT in a euphoric daze. Once inside his old grey sedan, he unfolded the papers in his hand and looked at them again as if to ascertain that it was real and not a fake. The Brigadier had assured him this particular notice of commendation for training at this particular address of the Ministry of Defense would take his world in an entirely new direction, a world he had only dreamed of. 

_Espionage!_

Even the Doctor had taken his hand in congratulations. “We’re in your debt, Mr. Babcock. Even if most of what you did was accidental.”

“After all,” the Brigadier had added a bit drily, “If you’re determined to be doing it anyhow, you might as well be trained in how to do it properly.”

 

-oo00oo-

 

“Where’s the Doctor?” asked Yates from the door of the lab. “I’m supposed to have him sign these papers for the requisition forms. And what are you doing here, Sergeant?”

“He’s up in the Brig’s office. Seems they wanted him to present a bonus of some kind to that government man,” replied Benton from where he sat on the couch with his crutches handy. “And I’m recuperating, which apparently requires tea according to Miss Grant.” He raised his cup and took a swig of tea as proof. “Which reminds me, whatever happened with those men at the railway?” 

“Oh, the Doctor took care of them all right,” Jo said from where she and Benton had been sharing a packet of biscuits. “You want a cup of tea, Captain?”

“Thank you,” Yates said, carefully settling on the other end of the couch. After all, there was no reason he couldn’t have some tea with a pretty girl if Benton could. “None of them could remember why they were all lined up in a burning building, but he’s apparently left them under the vague impression they drunk themselves into a stupor at a party,” he said. “Either way, they’re grateful enough at being saved they won’t file complaints. And the smoke from the signal house gave us a handy cover for the smoke from that explosion too; we’ve reported it as an accident with a fuel car.”

“Well, that’s something good at least,” said Jo, peering into a mug to see if it was clean. She stuck the edge of her sleeve into it to wipe out some dust and poured the last of the tea in. She passed it to Yates.

Benton took a biscuit and gestured in the general direction of the Brigadier’s office. “I’m glad that Babcock chap’s getting something. He was the one who saw it, I mean those men setting fire to the building. He told the Brigadier we were up there.”

“You know, the most horrible thing in all that was I could still see and hear things going on, I just couldn’t move,” Jo said, settling back between them. She looked up at the Captain. “But I thought you and Sergeant Benton were both very heroic.”

Yates shrugged, his ears going red as he self-consciously tugged at his jacket, which wouldn’t completely button over the bandages that still wrapped his ribs. “I’m glad the Brigadier is giving him something too,” he said, steering the topic back away from himself. “He admitted he accidentally let that dragon go, but otherwise did pretty well for someone who was just an untrained civilian.”

“Except for his knocking me to the ground the way he did,” Jo said, holding up a bandaged elbow for evidence. She looked over at Benton and smiled. “I blame you for that one. But really, whatever happened to that dragon, then? It isn’t still out there loose somewhere is it?”

“No,” the Benton said. “According to the Doctor, it had a last meal of tobacco and has gone to wherever Polluxian dragons go when they don’t go back to Pollux.”

“And if he hadn’t let that dragon out, the Master and I would have both been gone to wherever Polluxian dragons go as well,” came the Doctor’s amused voice from the door of the lab. “Not the way I would have preferred to perish, locked in a kennel with the Master of all things.” 

He came in, resplendent in fresh black and maroon velvet and regarded the three of them lined up along the couch with a smile. “I was just about to go out and work on Bessie a bit, it seems she’s in need of a new speedometer again. Any biscuits left?”

-oo00oo-

_Fin_


End file.
